


Angel Wings

by AwakeAt2AM



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Dedue is a sweetheart and his and Sylvain's friendship is so good, Developing Friendships, Found Family, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, I just think Annette and Sylvain's friendship is nice, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Minor Character Death, Pining, Seteth accidentally adopts Sylvain, Sylvain copes in very strange ways
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:15:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 23,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25807219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwakeAt2AM/pseuds/AwakeAt2AM
Summary: Sylvain comes across his rescuer from years and years ago, drudging up strange warm feelings and odd, awful memories that he just does not want to think about. He just wants his brain to shut up for a while, but can he get it to?No. No, that would be too easy.a set of musings about Yurivain, growing friendships, and Sylvain's trauma because I just cannot help myself.
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic & Sylvain Jose Gautier, Sylvain Jose Gautier & Dedue Molinaro, Sylvain Jose Gautier & Flayn, Sylvain Jose Gautier & Mercedes von Martritz, Sylvain Jose Gautier & Seteth, Sylvain Jose Gautier/Yuris Leclair | Yuri Leclerc
Comments: 66
Kudos: 90





	1. Chapter 1

It’s a trip and a half, really, seeing another familiar face.

There’s the usual suspects of course, Felix and Ingrid and Dimitri. Close enough to know him, but at enough of a distance that they don’t know _everything_. Then there’s Ashe. Goddess, Ashe had been absolutely tiny the last time Sylvain saw him. To be fair, Sylvain was pretty young himself. But that’s all beside the point. It’s ten different kinds of beside the point. It’s beside the point because there’s another pretty face in the courtyard, seemingly negotiating with Garreg Mach’s new professor about something or other.

Sylvain makes out the words “attendance” and “white magic seminars” and “materials don’t come cheap” from where he sits, but he’s distracted easily enough from the conversation.

The man is cute, for sure. Long legs and posture adjusted for the maximum amount of elegance. Heels that make his rear look excellent. A cape draped across his shoulders for contrast, maybe mystery. His uniform is different, like that of the Officer’s Academy in make but in different colors. Maybe that’s not so odd. Dimitri had insisted on silver detailing instead of gold. Still, the cape. Only the House Leaders got those, and as far as Sylvain knew there were only three.

Then the man turns, and Sylvain sees his face.

Oh Goddess does he know this face.

Yuri Leclerc, adoptive son of Count Rowe, acquaintance of Ashe, and Sylvain’s savior from drowning in a well several years ago. The last he’d heard about Yuri was that he’d disappeared somewhere. Practically fallen off the face of the earth, never spoken of again. Yet here he is.

Yuri tilts his head, twisting some of his hair around his finger in a practiced, seductive motion. Sylvain would try it himself if he had longer hair, but alas. Also, alas for Yuri, as the professor just blinks at him. She offers him a strange and cheerful smile, and Yuri masks the slight twitch of his eyebrows with an overdramatic glance away.

His mascara is stunning and his eyes are the same as they always were, a calm shade of lilac and pretty enough to be jewels themselves. But then Yuri’s attention is back on the professor, and Sylvain doesn’t quite know what to feel.

Yuri’s the one chatting up a cute girl, but this doesn’t feel like jealousy. Well, if it _is_ somehow, it’s not in that direction.

Either Yuri didn’t notice him sitting in the courtyard, or the man who’d saved his life just didn’t recognize him at all.

*

Sylvain thinks about the past more than he should. He tries to drown it out as best he can, but it still rears its head and throws him back into that frigid well. It’s been the well in particular recently. Not the mountain, not the poison, not the butcher knife. Just the well. It sticks to him like fly-paper no matter what he does.

Sylvain is not known for making the wisest decisions, he knows. Impulsive. Selfish. Idiotic. But he just wants a damned reprieve from his own mind. This, though. It’s relatively harmless. It’s not stringing some unsuspecting sap or Crest-crazy goon along, or drowning himself in booze. It’s actually something maybe good. Maybe. It’s just some of Anna’s patented retail-therapy, and it’s not even for himself.

He leaves a small, wrapped gift where Yuri usually sits during lectures. The next one in this classroom is on white magic, so he’s certain Yuri will show up. The man has dozens of admirers, so Yuri likely won’t think anything of it. And that’s good.

If Yuri doesn’t remember, then Sylvain doesn’t really want to explain.

He has his own lecture to get to, though.

*

It becomes an easy enough arrangement, really. Sylvain thinks of the well, reminds himself of Yuri’s existence, and decides to focus on repayment instead of getting lost in years-old fear. Picking out gifts is tricky, requires a lot of brain power. It’s a good distraction from terror that’s aging like fine wine.

Sylvain wonders absently if Yuri’s figured him out yet. If he’s remembered. Sylvain reaches for a tome of advanced white magic techniques when another hand bumps into his. Sylvain moves to retract his hand, only to find his fingers pressed against the cover.

Thin, pale, perfectly manicured painted nails. Soft skin. Strong grip. Damn it.

“So, you’re my admirer? Not quite what I was expecting,” comes a purr in his ear. “The Ladykiller of the Blue Lion House. You realize I’m not a woman, right? Common mistake, but you ought to know.”

Sylvain laughs, turning his head to look at Yuri. “Dude. Who said I was straight? Not me, that’s for sure.”

Yuri’s chuckle is humorless, glinting eyes hiding something sharper underneath. Yet there’s something curious about the way his mouth turns, like there’s worry mixing in with the skepticism. It’s only natural, Sylvain thinks. If Yuri doesn’t remember, it’s probably just creepy. Hell, even if Yuri _does_ remember, it might still come off as just plain creepy.

“What are you after?” Yuri asks. “You shower me with little baubles and expensive texts, but you don’t leave your name anywhere to be found. Odd behavior for a benefactor. Did you fall in love with me at first sight or something?”

“Not after anything,” Sylvain says. “Just showing my appreciation, that’s all.”

Yuri lets go of his hand, gaze less sharp and more just _confused_. “For what, exactly?”

Sylvain does not want to explain. He doesn’t. Not to Yuri, not to his childhood friends, not to anyone. Barely anyone even knew that Miklan tried to kill him, and he’s certain no one knew how often.

“You saved me from an assassination attempt once,” Sylvain says, not thinking much. “So, uh. Yeah. This is my way of saying thanks.”

Yuri’s eyebrows draw together and his jaw goes slack for a moment. “What-?” And then the realization, surprisingly with no less worry. “Gautier.”

Sylvain nods. “Mmhm.”

Yuri crosses his arms, spine just shy of straight. His eyes seem rounder in this moment, wider and… No, frightened isn’t the word. There’s a very specific face Ingrid makes when she says “why didn’t you tell me?” and the expression Yuri is making reminds Sylvain keenly of it.

“So, you lied back then,” Yuri says. “You didn’t fall in.”

Sylvain sighs out his nose. “Nope.”

“Then why didn’t you just say what happened?” Yuri asks, narrowing his eyes.

How do you say “I just hoped my brother would actually care about me one day, and I knew he wouldn’t if I blamed him?” without becoming a literal walking wreck? You don’t, so Sylvain keeps his mouth firmly shut at that question. Yuri sighs, looking away. It’s almost the same exact expression he made all the way back then.

“You’re still my angel, you know.” Goddess, Sylvain hopes that teasing can get him somewhat out of this.

Yuri snorts. “Yeah, I remember your babbling.”

“I mean it!”

The violet-haired man rolls his eyes, clapping Sylvain’s shoulder. “Stick to the gifts, Gautier. Your pick up lines need work.”


	2. Chapter 2

Annette purses her lips as she looks at Sylvain, squinting ever so slightly. “So… how _do_ you know Yuri?”

It was only a matter of time, really. Sylvain sighs out a laugh and shuts his book, opting to offer a playful little wink. “It’s a secret, Annie.”

Annette rolls her eyes at the non-answer. “Just say that you don’t want to say if you don’t want to say it.”

“But where’s the fun in that?” Sylvain asks. “Saying that you don’t want to say just makes people more curious, y’know?”

Mercedes gives a little chuckle, putting a finger to her chin in contemplation. “Oh! I get it. People look for a way to guilt you into telling anyway. If you make it obnoxious somehow, they’ll be less inclined to pry it out of you.”

As always, Mercedes von Martritz takes no prisoners. Sylvain laughs, clutching his chest. “Ouch, right through the heart, Mercie.”

Mercedes giggles, holding her hand up to her lips. “Would you have it any other way?”

Sylvain cackles in response. “From you? Nah.”

Annette pouts, resting her chin on her hands. “I’m not trying to guilt you into it. I’m just curious. I hadn’t even heard of Yuri before.”

Sylvain hums, patting Annette’s shoulder. “Suffice it to say, Annie, he saved my ass when I was young and stupid. That’s how I know him. He was an angel who saved me from the brink of doom.”

Annette squints. “…Sure, Sylvain.”

Sylvain holds up his hands. “You’re free to assume I’m lying, but I’m not.”

The redhead sighs out her nose, a tiny half-smile on her face. “I know. You look less awkward when you lie.”

Sylvain gasps in mock offense, letting his mouth hang open. “Annie! You wound me!”

Mercedes leans into the theatrics, smiling fondly at Annette. “I’ve taught you well!”

Annette dissolves into a pile of giggles and snorts right on the spot, barely hiding behind her hands.

*

Sylvain doesn’t know Lord Lonato that well, but he knows distressed faces when he sees them. Professor Eisner is attempting to pull a miracle out of her ass. Catherine steels herself and charges forward with Thunderbrand. Ashe yells and _yells_ for his adoptive father to stop and think for a moment. To stop fighting, to stop shedding blood, to stop hurting each other.

Magdred Way’s fog lifted fifteen minutes ago, and yet somehow it’s all been relocated to Sylvain’s head. He remembers pleading the same things with Miklan, pleading to know why they had to fight. Not that Sylvain ever fought back. It’s hard to fight back when you want the person punching your daylights out to love you.

A wail cuts through the air. Ashe crumples to the ground. Professor Eisner kneels to catch him.

Thunderbrand drips red with blood.

Sylvain bites his tongue hard enough to make it bleed. Nothing ever works out when there’s a Hero’s Relic involved, does it?

*

“Are you planning to waste your _entire_ fortune on me?”

Sylvain gives a chuckle and a lopsided grin to the violet-haired man standing in front of him. “Not _all_ of it. Half, maybe three quarters.”

Yuri rolls his eyes, taking a seat beside Sylvain on the bench. “I shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, especially since you seem to have a stupidly good eye.”

Sylvain raises his eyebrows. “Aaaaand here comes the ‘but’.”

Yuri’s mouth flattens into a thin line. “Gautier, what are you _after_?”

“I think we’ve had this conversation before.”

Yuri pulls Sylvain’s shoulder, a serious glint in his eye. Sylvain finds himself tilted, off-kilter, and a lot closer to his supposed angel. The violet-haired man’s gaze is hard, unbending and skeptical with pupils perfectly focused on Sylvain’s own. Damn it. Goddess _damn_ it. He can almost feel the chill of the well again. Can almost hear Yuri trying to pry what happened right out of him.

“What are you after?” Yuri asks again.

“Aw, life debts can’t be repaid in fancy trinkets?”

Yuri shakes his head. “Try again, Gautier. A real answer this time, if you would.”

Sylvain wishes he knew more magic. Black magic, Dark magic, _any_ magic. Just whatever it would take to warp himself away from this situation. Sylvain sits back and scoots away, crossing one leg over the other.

“I’m not trying to buy you, or your trust, or your-” Goddess, he wishes now more than ever that getting Miklan to care could be as easy as giving him gifts. Sylvain clears his throat. “-your _anything_.”

“Then _what_?”

Sylvain Jose Gautier does not like to hide, and often times finds that he can’t. Does it ever stop him from trying? Definitely not. He pinches the bridge of his nose, turning his face away from Yuri’s. He needs to stand, needs to get out of here.

“Wasting time on stupid thoughts won’t help anyone,” Sylvain says. “There are better things to do.”

“Things where you don’t have to think, you mean?”

Sylvain isn’t totally sure what makes him stand up, what makes him start walking in the other direction. The words themselves could be taken as an insult, sure, but Yuri’s tone is all wrong. It’s too gentle around the edges to be a knife pointed at his back. It holds too many quiet realizations. Too much worry and maybe a dash of pity.

“Gautier.”

Yuri is smart. Sylvain has no doubt that the man could pull this thread and unravel his whole haphazard tapestry. And what’s that going to leave him with? Sylvain isn’t sure he’s prepared to be a pile of thread at Yuri’s feet. At anyone’s feet. He just doesn’t want to think at all.

“ _Sylvain_.”

Goddess. That’s enough to make him hesitate at least. There’s a question in Yuri’s tone and it doesn’t ask him to stay, but it asks him where he’s going. Sylvain doesn’t turn around, but that just means that Yuri circles around in front of him. Yuri lifts Sylvain’s chin up in a gentle motion.

“You’re gonna get a crick in your neck if you keep doing that,” Yuri says.

Any laugh Sylvain makes would sound way, way too broken. He settles for an odd smile. “Stickler for the little things, huh?”

“Maybe,” Yuri says. “But also for things that don’t leave you wincing in pain. You’re gonna regret it if you keep that up all through today.”

Sylvain forces the other corner of his mouth up. “I’ll keep that in mind.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: mentions of choking/throwing up. Nothing graphic, though.

_The well water was cold, and the air was colder. When Miklan put the cover on the opening Sylvain quickly lost all sense of time. He’d tried shouting for what felt like hours, but nothing happened. No one heard. He remembered something that Miklan had said, “no one wants to hear what you think anyway.”_

_If Sylvain turned his head towards the opening, even just a bit, he could relax just a little and let his feet touch the bottom. At least, Sylvain thought it was the bottom. It was pitch dark and awful. But if he went through the act of closing his eyes and folding his arms so they didn’t touch the sides of the well, maybe he could pretend that he was somewhere else for a little while. Somewhere where older brothers don’t throw younger brothers into wells and hope they drown._

_When he heard shuffling, he didn’t believe it. When light hit the backs of his eyelids, Sylvain thought maybe he’d lost track of himself and drowned._

_“Hey!” A voice called down to him. “You alive down there?”_

_When Sylvain looked up, he saw the outline of a face haloed by the sun._

*

“I hear our next mission is going to be hunting down your brother.”

Sylvain startles from his place by the fire. Maybe it’s for the better. His thoughts are a scrambled, jumbled mess and he really does not want to deal with them. He turns his face towards the source of the voice and finds one Yuri Leclerc, arms folded. He’s trying for an aloof face, maybe an appraising expression, but worry cracks along his brow line.

Sylvain offers a tight smile. “How in Sothis’ name can you get around so quietly in three inch heels?”

A few flecks of pride start to litter Yuri’s face. It does a piss poor job of hiding the worry. “Practice, my friend.”

“Hah. Mind teaching me sometime?”

Yuri snorts. “If you get any taller you’ll be bashing your head on doorframes.”

Sylvain shrugs, pointing his thumb at his forehead. “Maybe so, but it’s not like I’ll be losing anything up here.”

By all rights, Yuri should roll his eyes at Sylvain and wave it off. Others do. Ingrid does. Yuri doesn’t, though, just presses his lips together and tilts his head some more as even more worry cracks over his whole damned face.

“Are you gonna be okay?”

Sylvain sputters, utterly confused. “What?”

“We’re gonna be fighting your brother,” Yuri says. “Might even have to kill him.”

“Yeah,” Sylvain says. “Leave it to my asshole older brother to make things difficult. Again.”

“So?” Yuri asks, stepping just a bit closer. “Are you gonna be _okay_?”

Is that concern in Yuri’s tone? Legitimate, genuine concern, not some form of odd chastising. He keeps asking the same question over and over, not allowing for deflection.

“I mean. My brother is a piece of garbage for sure,” Sylvain says. “He’s gonna get what he deserves.”

Yuri shakes his head. “That’s not an answer.”

Yuri’s right, of course. It isn’t an answer in the traditional sense. It’s not a yes, not a thirst for revenge and the excitement and thrill of destroying a horrid abuser. It’s not a no, a small voice crying out for his brother to just come back, to please just _give a shit_. It’s somewhere in between. It’s the half-buried scream in the back of his throat and the reflexes that tell him to grab Miklan by the collar and shake some sense into him.

Sylvain shrugs, an awkward, crooked smile on his face. “Look, dude, I’m not sure what you’re looking for me to say.”

Yuri fixes him with a long stare. It’s not one of the seductive types, or even the intimidating types. It’s just long and curious and- damn, he really is worried.

“I’ll live,” Sylvain says.

Yuri turns his gaze towards the fire.

*

Miklan still looks at Sylvain like he’s trash. Gilded trash, maybe, because he has what Miklan wants, but trash all the same. If only Miklan knew that Sylvain would give it all to him if he could. Maybe Miklan does know and just doesn’t care. That’s always an option. Though, one would think that he wouldn’t try to kill Sylvain so often if he didn’t give a shit.

Sylvain has forgotten how difficult it is to stand in front of his brother. Just how much fear and anger and grief pours into every interaction. And, just like always, some untouched and innocent fragment of Sylvain’s heart cries out in hopes that Miklan will just _stop_.

“Why have you come here, you Crest-bearing fool?”

Just like always.

“I’ve come for the lance, Miklan,” Sylvain lies. Then he speaks the truth. “I don’t want to embarrass you, but I will if I have to.”

“Just try it!” Miklan shouts. “You…! If it hadn’t been for _you_ …!”

Just like _always._ It’s the same tired song and dance no matter when it happens.

Sylvain grits his teeth, exhausted. “Oh, would you shut up about that for two minutes? These are Church people! They will _kill_ you over that stupid lance! Is this the hill you want to die on?”

Miklan glares. The Lance of Ruin gleams in his hand. “I’m taking what’s mine, and you can’t stop me. Not this time.”

Sylvain is suddenly so, so very young again. “Please. Don’t do this.”

Miklan swings the damned lance at Sylvain in response.

Just. Like. Always.

*

Sylvain Jose Gautier is pretty sure his worst nightmares are coming to life. The Lance of Ruin oozes this awful, black liquid. It covers Miklan’s arm like a really fucked up, shiny glove over his gauntlet, and then it stretches up and around him while he _writhes_. Sylvain is reminded very poignantly of one time Miklan held him up by his neck and watched Sylvain kick and gasp for air.

There was a point back then where Sylvain stopped breathing. The sound comes rushing back to the forefront of his mind when Miklan gurgles and his voice is choked out. It’s too easy. Too much like a stray breeze snuffing out a candle. Sylvain remembers his brother cackling as he lost consciousness.

It’s not fucking _fair_ that Sylvain’s first instinct is to worry for his brother’s safety.

Miklan grows into something older, something with centuries-old bones and ravaged sinew, and teeth the size of oversized scythes. Drool flows out of his mouth like clogged, bloody gutters. Miklan’s men start to run, screaming, and one loyal soul begs Miklan to stop.

Miklan practically swallows him whole.

*

Sylvain thinks he should want to stab the lifeless corpse of his brother over and over again, some sort of long-building revenge finally culminating in catharsis and then maybe he can get on with his life. But Professor Eisner is the one to land the last blow. The monstrous form dissolves like moths having eaten through curtain sheers, and Miklan lies in a broken heap with the Lance of Ruin still gripped tight in his hand.

Sylvain kneels next to his brother, closes Miklan’s eyes for dignity’s sake when he should be kicking this corpse. He should be hollering, yelling in triumph, holding the Lance of Ruin as though he’d won a prize. Should be praising the Goddess for finally giving what Miklan is due.

But Sylvain finds himself turning tail in silence, walking out of Conand Tower to throw up in the bushes in peace.

He should’ve known someone would follow, especially a healer. Gentle hands pull his hair away from his face. Sylvain wonders for a moment how long Mercedes had been tailing him when he feels a strong grip keep him from falling on his face. Not that Mercedes isn’t strong, she is; she’s in training to use fucking _bows_ and that requires more upper body strength than Sylvain himself would know what to do with. The voice doesn’t match up though.

“Did you at least get checked out by one of the healers before losing your lunch?”

“Yuri,” Sylvain manages. He feels frail, as though he’d been the one lying in a broken heap on the floor. Well, Miklan had sent him flying across the room with a swipe of his arm. Sylvain supposes that has to count for some of it.

“I’m gonna take that as a no,” the violet-haired man says. “Then let’s have a look.”

Sylvain doesn’t have it in him to fight anymore. He lets Yuri pull him away, sit him down, work on bruises and cuts and strain Sylvain didn’t know he had. Well, shit. It’s not like he can ask Yuri why he’s worrying so much when it’s so plain. Yuri Leclerc works intently, like he’s going to unmake every single wound.

“Why do you care so much?” Sylvain asks.

Yuri blinks. “You just survived that shitshow. Like hell I’d let you die face down in the mud after a victory.”

The sound that leaves Sylvain’s mouth is not a laugh. No, it’s more like the sound a clogged organ might make. He is cold and he is tired and he swears he can feel the well’s walls all around him.

“Sylvain…”

He closes his eyes against the sliver of heartbreak in Yuri’s eyes and the downturn of his mouth. Though, is it really heartbreak? Sylvain doesn’t know, and he doesn’t want to open his eyes again to find out.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Drinking

Sylvain wonders for a while how the ever-loving hell he’s supposed to concentrate on the lecture when it’s being given by the woman who landed the final blow against his brother.

Final blow. Who is he kidding, Professor Eisner _killed_ Miklan. A Hero’s Relic necessitated his death, and a Hero’s Relic killed him. Still, Sylvain wonders if it’s the Sword of the Creator that killed Miklan or if the real culprit is the Lance of Ruin. Miklan kept trying to kill Sylvain in part because of the damned lance, so he’s definitely biased in that direction. It even has such a stupidly apt name.

The Lance of Ruin. Hah. It sure has been the Lance of Ruining Everything for Sylvain.

Goddess, he just wants to forget it. He wants to forget it _all_.

*

He’s three quarters of the way down a bottle of Gautier territory’s finest wine when his lock is distinctly picked open. Felix or Ingrid would have kicked down the door, Dimitri would have knocked, and Mercedes or Annette would have tried to talk to him through the door. This is an outlier.

Who the hell wants to see him so badly that they’d pick his damned lock?

It would figure that his angel opens the door, much like he’d shoved off that well cover years and years ago. Yuri Leclerc comes in wearing what’s supposed to be a neutral expression, but it melts too quickly. The more Sylvain sees of Yuri, the more he thinks the man’s expressions are candlewax. Melting, then trying to cool, cracking around the edges, melting again when heat is applied…

Sylvain isn’t sure what to think about Yuri worrying about him so much. It echoes Yuri’s own questions early on into their, well, whatever the hell this is. Can Sylvain really call it a friendship?

_“What are you after?”_

Sylvain offers a lopsided smile. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Yuri shuts the door. Sylvain tries to keep his expression from turning into a Felix-like glower.

“Y’know, I’m not usually one to turn down sordid affairs, but I am _really_ not in the mood right now,” Sylvain says.

Yuri’s gaze is still worried, but he does cave to rolling his eyes. He sits down next to Sylvain, back against the side of his bed, and wraps his hand around the neck of the bottle. “I’m not here for that. This shit’s too good to waste by drinking alone.”

Sylvain capitulates, mostly out of surprise. He lets go of the bottle and watches as Yuri downs a long swig. Alright, maybe Sylvain’s mind is a _little_ in the gutter now after watching Yuri’s mouth move and seeing him swallow, but honestly. This is Yuri Leclerc, prettiest man in the whole of Garreg Mach. He’s perfectly constructed to make everyone want him. And Sylvain is painfully, _painfully_ human. Sylvain is allowed a dirty thought or three.

Still. That doesn’t mean Sylvain is in the mood. He’s not. If he’s perfectly honest, he’s not sure he can make it too terribly long with Yuri in his room. Those worried glances have weight, after all, and Sylvain feels so much like glass.

Yuri passes the bottle back to Sylvain, and the redhead gives a snort.

“Here I thought maybe you weren’t gonna give that back,” Sylvain muses.

Yuri offers a chuckle of his own. “Did you not hear a word I just said about not drinking alone? That applies to me too, you know.”

Sylvain shrugs, moves to take another drink. “Why are you here, man?”

“You haven’t been yourself. People have noticed,” Yuri says. “Can barely get through a white magic lecture without Mercedes or Annette wondering where you are and how you’re doing.”

Sylvain isn’t sure if that tone means irritation or the kind of deadpan worry that Felix sometimes has. He takes another long drink, tipping his head back to let the burn flow more easily down his throat. Sylvain does feel bad about Annette and Mercedes. They’re both too good, they shouldn’t be worrying about his sorry ass. They should be able to live carefree, without Sylvain around to weigh them down-

Yuri taps on the bottle. It’s enough to get Sylvain to come up for air before Yuri takes it back. “Seems they’re right to worry. You drink like you wanna drown.”

Sylvain leans his head back on his bed, closing his eyes. “Please, _please_ don’t fucking expect me to be okay after everything that happened. I’m begging you.”

Yuri exhales through his nose, a soft sound like distant rain. “Sylvain, it’s not _everyone_ who’s expecting you to be okay. Some assholes, sure. But not everyone.”

Yuri doesn’t say ‘not me’ explicitly. It carries in the softness of his tone, in the way he doesn’t let Sylvain back at the bottle immediately, in the gentle way the violet-haired man presses their shoulders together.

Sylvain would try not to weep if he knew where his tears were. They just won’t come.

*

_The fire was warmer than Sylvain ever could have imagined. He was made of shivers and chattering teeth until Yuri had dragged him into the estate. Sylvain’s clothes were hung up nearby, and the boy himself huddled beneath three different blankets._

_Yuri was wide eyed and half-scrambling, panic in his voice. “Who did this to you?”_

_Sylvain just shook his head. His voice was quiet, cracked. “I fell.”_

_Yuri leaned forward then, feeling for Sylvain’s elbows and taking them in his hands. Yuri was close enough to whisper to and not be heard. “The cover was on the well. There’s no way someone didn’t throw you in.”_

_Yuri’s right, logically, but Miklan would hate Sylvain if he said what really happened. Would despise him. Sylvain would never have a chance to be loved in return._

_“Who did this?” Yuri asked._

_“No one,” Sylvain replied. “I fell.”_

_Yuri’s mouth twitched into a nervous frown. “Listen, you’re safe here. You can tell me.”_

_“Why won’t you believe me?”_

_Sylvain didn’t know Yuri well enough to know why his eyes drooped, or why his grip tightened on Sylvain’s elbows. “Was it someone in your family? Your father? Your brother…?”_

_“I said I fell!” Sylvain snapped. “It’s no one’s damned fault but my own!”_

_Yuri’s mouth hung open for a moment before he pulled back. Part of Sylvain wanted to reach out for him to come back, just for the extra body heat, but he didn’t. How would that look? Would Miklan think Sylvain chose Count Rowe’s son over him?_

_Tears pricked in Sylvain’s eyes. Yuri let out a crushed excuse of a sigh and turned his gaze towards the fire._

*

Sylvain Jose Gautier underestimates how worried Annette Fantine Dominic is. She doesn’t try to press herself between the little cracks in his mask, even though she sees them, but she does eventually corner him one day. Her entire face is furrowed and pulled taut, like someone’s heavily abused purse strings. Her blue eyes are big and watery.

“There you are!” She says.

Sylvain blinks. “Huh?”

“You’ve been so out of it! You missed your own Certification exam!” Annette says. “And I know how much you wanted to try the Mage class on for size! You didn’t stop talking about that for weeks, and you’ve been doing really good with your Reason studies, and-”

Annette had been nothing but supportive the minute he’d voiced his tiny aspiration to be a Dark Knight. To challenge himself with the numbers and calculations and the sheer tactical advantages he would have. It’s only natural that the person who’d been tutoring him would check up on him.

Would be disappointed in him.

“I’m- Annie, I’m sorry,” he sighs.

“You haven’t been yourself lately.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Maybe it isn’t the answer she expected. Sylvain watches her face spell dismay in the span of just a second. He’s not all that unused to seeing disappointment or heartbreak or anger spill out of people’s faces in less than a moment. What Sylvain doesn’t expect is for Annette Fantine Dominic to nearly tackle him with a hug.

“A-Annie?” Sylvain’s voice is dangerously close to a laugh, but not out of joy. More so out of concern. Fear, even.

Annette’s shoulders shake, voice muffled from where her face is buried in his chest. “No, don’t- don’t be sorry!”

Sylvain’s blood runs cold. Frigid, even. He’s confused and maybe a little terrified, like he’s about to become some shredded slipper in a dog’s mouth.

“I-I can’t say I know what it’s like, with everything that happened. I’m sure it’s gotta be awful,” Annette says.

“It’s-” the words stick to Sylvain’s throat like molasses, barely moving. “Annie, it’s- I- look, he got what he deserved and it’s over now. Miklan was awful.”

“But he was still your brother,” Annette says. Her eyes glisten with tears. “He was still your family, it’s still gotta be hard. Being family’s complicated, but...”

 _But he was still your brother_. Sylvain’s mind reels and reels until it turns to mush. Annette still has her arms around his torso and Sylvain is wondering just what the hell is happening.

“Sylvain, I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”

Oh.

All the air in his lungs leaves in that moment. Sylvain latches onto Annette, shivering and shaking. Everything in him burns, and his eyes blur to the point where there’s no point in keeping them open.

So that’s where all his tears have been hiding.


	5. Chapter 5

It’s not that Sylvain has an unnatural desire to find Flayn, but the idea of being scared and alone and trapped hits him far harder than he should let it. He still has lectures to attend. He still has things to do. Sylvain is supposed to be on stable duty in less than an hour, and yet he finds himself prying open every closed well he can find. He uses the weakest arrays he can muster to light a pathway down. To _see_.

Flayn is in none of the wells that he checks. None of the tiny crevices he can find where she may have been stuffed or gotten stuck.

He’s three quarters of the way through shoving the cover off the well when he’s approached.

“What are you doing?”

Light, but gravelly. Tired. Weary even though he’s trying to hide it. Seteth tries to keep a neutral expression on the other side of the well, and Sylvain tries hard to keep himself from faltering into a mangled heap of “shit, what did I do this time?”

“I’m looking,” Sylvain says. He braces himself on one wall of the well and summons an array, crafting a tiny, bright ball of fire.

“You’re looking down wells to find her,” Seteth says, quieter than anything Sylvain’s heard him say. “What makes you think she’ll be down there? Did you find something?”

“Personal experience,” Sylvain replies without thinking. The ball of light hits the water, but there’s no sign of movement. It lingers for a moment then huffs out of existence. “It sucks to be at the bottom of one of these,” he pats the wall of the well, then points at the cover, “just to be muffled by that.”

He sends another one of his little flames down, but there’s still no reaction. Sylvain sighs, shaking his head. When he rights himself he finds Seteth staring at him with wide eyes. Green and cold, but not in the usual hardass way. In the way that a young plant might look after a sudden frost.

“Sylvain,” Seteth starts. He opens his mouth to say more, but the words die on his tongue.

Sylvain knows where this conversation is going, and he’s not sure he likes it. The redhead is content to let this particular conversation die.

“I’ll keep looking,” Sylvain says, turning to walk away. “We’ll find Flayn, I promise.”

*

“Just what do you think you’re doing?”

Yuri’s voice is cool, almost velvety in the soft evening air. Under other circumstances, it could’ve been flirty, teasing, but right now? Oh no. Yuri looks at him pointedly, blocking off a side entrance to Abyss. Now, Yuri has a reputation when it comes to Abyss. The man is deadly protective. Sylvain knows he’s been given a hell of a lot of leeway when the twitch of Yuri’s brow leans into annoyance rather than accusation.

Still, Sylvain huffs as he dusts off his pants. “I’m looking for Flayn.”

“You think she wandered down here?” Yuri hums.

Sylvain tilts his head, trying to come up with the most diplomatic way to get his point across. Abyss is large enough to disappear into, which would be perfect for someone carrying a very noticeable girl with hair greener than fresh spring grass. He doesn’t want to insinuate that Abyss is full of criminals, even Sylvain knows that’s not the whole story, but there _are_ criminals that linger in Abyss.

“I think she might have been, ah, _escorted_ through the labyrinth of tunnels. Possibly,” Sylvain says slowly. “There’s been talk of an entire network, aside from Abyss, that exists right under the Monastery. Gotta admit, that sounds like a good hiding spot.”

Yuri holds up a hand, and suddenly Sylvain is very aware that he probably has men lurking around in hiding. After a few seconds the violet-haired man simply sighs and loops an arm around Sylvain’s shoulders, guiding him inside.

“It would be,” Yuri says, “if I wasn’t looking too. Word travels fast, you know.”

Sylvain lets out a sigh, tilting his head back a little. Of course. It’s not like the Ashen Wolves _hadn’t_ made some deal with Professor Eisner. Of course they’d know. Professor Eisner probably came down here herself to ask for assistance, because she had the same thought that occurred to Sylvain but likely _way_ before he did-

“Gautier,” Yuri interrupts. “You’re overthinking again. Yes, the Professor asked for my help. Yes, we’re looking. No, we haven’t found her or any trace of her yet.”

A pitiful-sounding groan leaves Sylvain’s throat before he can stop it. Yuri just laughs, gently squeezing his shoulder.

“You know, one of your fellow lions mentioned that you haven’t been resting,” Yuri says.

Sylvain pinches the bridge of his nose, a hint of a tease entering his voice. “What, you worrying about me again?”

“As if I ever stopped.”

Sylvain misses a half-step, hopes it’s not enough for Yuri to notice. That’s a lot like praying for the impossible, though. Yuri earned his leadership of Abyss by being able to see the littlest mishaps and details and deconstruct entire human beings. Like people are made of cogs and gears rather than blood and bone and feelings. Yuri takes the little bit of advantage he has and presses Sylvain against the tunnel wall. It’s nothing Sylvain can’t shake off, and he doesn’t doubt that that’s intentional, but it’s enough that Sylvain’s first instinct is to stay put.

“You never did tell me how you ended up in that damned well,” Yuri says.

Sylvain snorts. “You really do remember. I kinda thought you didn’t after you didn’t recognize me at first.”

“Sylvain,” Yuri sighs. “Are you doing this because you’re projecting?”

The redhead squints. “What? I’m looking for Flayn because there’s a _kid missing_.”

“Yeah, Seteth’s kid sister.”

Sylvain freezes. A blade made of ice and words twists in his gut, and he does his best not to growl or wince. “Seteth would _never_.”

“You didn’t consider, even for a moment-?”

Sylvain takes Yuri’s hand off his shoulder. “This is not about my personal hang-ups. This is about a missing kid.”

“Then you _need_ to _rest_. Or am I going to have to lock you in my room until you finally get some damned shut-eye? Logic, Sylvain. Think. Are you really in the best shape to be searching?”

No. No, he isn’t. If Sylvain were his own commanding officer, Sylvain would tell himself to go get some rest and let the other search teams handle it. That’s why there are multiple search parties. He sighs, shoulders sagging, and if Yuri were smiling he’d look like a cat with a fresh kill. But Yuri doesn’t smile now, just offers a thin line.

Sylvain doesn’t much like where this conversation is going, either. He plasters on a fake grin. “Y’know, if you wanted me in your bed so bad-”

“You really are insufferable sometimes,” Yuri sighs through his teeth.

“And yet you’re not walking away.”

“And just where would you end up if I did?” Yuri shoots back.

Sylvain just rolls his eyes.

*

The catacombs under Jeritza’s quarters are something to behold, Sylvain thinks. An uncharted maze that feels ancient in ways he doesn’t fully understand. Professor Eisner gets a strange look in her eye, and the Sword of the Creator seems to hiss all by itself. Those of the Ashen Wolf house take note of everything around, no doubt checking to see if it connected to their tunnels somehow.

The implications aren’t on Sylvain’s mind. Maybe he’ll have the presence of mind to pick apart these strange people and their strange magic and their strange reasoning after Flayn is safe. He knows where the catacombs are now, he can probably sneak back here and squeeze out its secrets then and there. No doubt Yuri will do the same, and Professor Eisner too. Maybe they should just all go as one party and make it less confusing.

For now, though?

For now Sylvain Jose Gautier lifts Flayn very gently, trying not to disturb her from her slumber. It’s not a rightful, good slumber, but at least she will find herself tucked neatly into a warm infirmary bed rather than in some awful place like this. Sylvain knows she’s exhausted when even Raphael’s big, thundering voice doesn’t wake her. He can’t blame her in the least. Who the hell even knows what she’s been through?

Seteth will be eager to see her. Thank the Goddess she has an older brother who cares.

*

“I wanted to personally thank you for everything you did to help bring my sister back to me.”

Sylvain nearly jumps out of his skin. It’s some three days later, Flayn and the other girl are recovering, and Seteth is still hovering over everyone to settle his nerves when Flayn tells him to go do something else please. Sylvain knows his own reputation, he wouldn’t have been surprised to get some talking-to or other from Rhea’s advisor, but _praise_?

Sylvain swallows down the confused mess of words in his throat. Well. For the most part. “Uh, no problem, really. I’m just glad she’s okay.”

Seteth bites back a number of words, thoroughly chewing on them before deciding just what to let out of his mouth. “As am I.”

Sylvain shuffles awkwardly. Seteth hasn’t dismissed him, but Sylvain isn’t sure what else to say. He fidgets, and Seteth appraises him. Sylvain isn’t sure what to even do with this.

At least it’s not a cold appraisal, like his father.

“Something you said before concerned me,” Seteth says. “About you having experience about being at the bottom of a well.”

“I fell in one once when I was younger,” Sylvain lies. Goddess, it’s such a simple, sweet lie that he can just wrap himself up in it like a warm blanket.

“With the cover on?” Seteth asks.

Sylvain freezes for a split second. Shit. _Shit_. He does not want to talk about this now, and he’s beginning to wonder if Yuri had said something to Seteth. Sylvain does his best to smile a deflection, give a shrug.

“It just struck me that a killer might put the cover on. You know. Out of direct sight and all that,” Sylvain says.

“Yes,” Seteth hums, eyes narrowing just a little. “I suppose you do have a point. I am glad it did not come to that, though.”

Sylvain nods. “Yeah, me too.”

Sylvain can tell in the way that Seteth’s jaw sets that Seteth doesn’t fully believe him. Doubt nests in the creases of his eyelids and concern dots the ends of his eyebrows. Oh well. Seteth doesn’t _have_ to fully believe him. No one really believes that lie anyway.

Sylvain offers a friendly smile and a wave as he tries to remind himself that he isn’t defending Miklan anymore, that he’s just tired and doesn’t want to explain.


	6. Chapter 6

“You let people slander your name often,” Dedue says simply, startling the shit out of Sylvain. “They seem to spout blatant lies about you every chance they get.”

Sylvain coughs in surprise, though makes sure to do it away from the food they’re preparing. Kitchen etiquette and all. “I could say the same about you, y’know.”

Dedue hums an acknowledgement in that stern way of his. Sylvain doesn’t know Dedue terribly well, if he’s being honest. The man is a quiet, lumbering enigma who takes care when baking bread and tending to the flowers in the greenhouse. In the same breath, he can howl war cries that echo Dimitri’s tenfold. The redhead sighs as he kneads the dough that will eventually be Dedue’s fan-fucking-tastic spice bread.

“I have heard that you’ve defended me at length,” Dedue says quietly. “Especially when Flayn went missing.”

“Well, yeah. Blatant lies, right? You’re one of the most hard-working students in the entire Blue Lions class,” Sylvain states. “Their shit isn’t based in fact when it comes to you. Of course I’d set them straight.”

“Yet you won’t do so for yourself?”

Sylvain is suddenly _very_ happy that he has something to hide the way his fists clench. “I’m a worthless scoundrel of a nobleman who’s always making mistakes according to them, yeah? Not too far off from the truth.”

He’s used to it by now. Everything Miklan said had been made manifest, really. He’s a heartless little whore whose only real worth is how many Crest Babies he might make. Miklan, his brother, who Sylvain had just wanted to-

“That’s enough,” Dedue says, gripping Sylvain’s wrist in an effort to stop the redhead from absolutely mutilating the dough.

Sylvain sighs out a bitter laugh, holding his hands up. “Kinda like that. Like I said-”

“I’m surprised at you, Sylvain,” Dedue says. “With the leeway you give others, I’d have thought you’d be kinder to yourself.”

Sylvain nearly chokes on the air he’s breathing. “Wait, _what_? I think you’ve got me mixed up with someone else. The redhead around here who actually deserves words like that is Annie.”

Dedue rarely squints. Sylvain knows at least that he tries not to, knowing that most stupid Fodlan folk find him intimidating regardless of his facial expression. Yet, Sylvain stands under the scrutiny of a very particular squint. The type that Dedue levels at Ashe when he hasn’t eaten, at Annie when she’s overdone it, at Dimitri when he hasn’t rested in a week straight.

“Who started those rumors?” Dedue asks. “I don’t think they know you very well, even with your reputation regarding lovers.”

Goddess fucking damnit. And now Sylvain can’t really respond. His mouth is too dry to, really, Dedue’s acknowledgement of the truth of Sylvain’s escapades notwithstanding. There isn’t an easy way to refute it. At least not without being a complete and utter ass to Dedue, and Dedue deserves so much better than that.

Sylvain chuckles awkwardly. “What, you threatening to give them a talking-to?”

“That would be only fair,” Dedue hums in response, “with how you’ve defended me.”

Sylvain shakes his head. “Don’t. Please. That’s way more trouble than it’s worth. The nasty stuff attached to my name might make trouble for you.”

Dedue’s mouth quirks up into a smile around the edges. “Curious. I could say the same thing to you, and yet you persist.”

Sylvain feels awkward that he can’t return Dedue’s smile, not properly. He manages a broken one while his shoulders sag. “I’m not winning this one, am I?”

“If you continue to paint yourself as someone undeserving of basic respect, then no. And I should hope you never do.”

*

Even after his death, Sylvain is still covering for Miklan. He holds his father’s request in his hands, head bent backward as he leans into the chair. Sylvain should have known that it would never fucking be over…

He waits for someone to interrupt his overthinking, his malice towards himself. So many people are interrupting him in that way and he doesn’t know what to do with it. Annie, Mercie, Yuri, now Dedue? What’s next, Seteth?

Sylvain goes very, very still when he hears footsteps. Had he just fucking summoned Seteth? Sothis’ bouncing _tits_ , that wasn’t what he intended. Damn it. Damn his entire thought process and how stupid it can get. How is he going to explain away the awkwardness on top of the absolutely ridiculous request his father just sent-

“That’s a rather _unique_ face you’ve got on there, Sylvain,” a sweet, velvety voice hums by his ear.

Yuri. The violet-haired man is just shy of a laugh when Sylvain tries to offer one of his fake smiles. Before Sylvain can even try, Yuri flicks the tip of his nose. Sylvain squawks in surprise, taking one hand from the suicide mission his father wants him to go on and rubbing the slightly irritated skin.

“ _Ow_.” Sylvain whines. It’s mostly for show. A flick on the nose is nothing compared to the shit Sylvain’s survived. It’s just enough to voice dislike.

“That’s what you get for thinking about lying to me,” Yuri says, pulling his hand back. “What’ve you got there?”

“Just stupid family bullshit,” Sylvain sighs. “Nothing you wanna be involved in.”

“Says who?” Yuri asks. “Let me be the judge of that.”

Sylvain levels a stare at Yuri. There’s something catlike in the way his eyes shift, curious and nosy as he leans against the table Sylvain currently sits at. Still, Yuri makes no motions to look over the letter himself. Sylvain’s positive that Yuri can read most things upside down and backwards on a bad day. Could Yuri be actually interested?

_“As if I ever stopped.”_

Sylvain feels odd. Heated and nervous in a way he doesn’t feel genuinely that often. His heart pulls in his chest, and he wonders if he even has the wherewithal to deal with whatever this fluttery feeling is.

“The remnants of Miklan’s gang are running amok. My father wants me to return to Gautier territory and put them down,” Sylvain says.

Yuri raises an eyebrow, propping his chin up on his hand. “Just you?”

Sylvain nods, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, just me. Wants me to go alone.”

Sylvain thinks it’s kind of amazing how Yuri’s eyes can get so sharp so quickly. There’s an unfocused knifepoint in Yuri’s gaze now, and he grits his teeth. It’s enough that Sylvain can see just how sharp his canines are.

“You’re joking.”

“I wish,” Sylvain replies. “Regardless of what he wants, though, I’m not doing _that_ part. I may be dumb, but I’m not that stupid.”

There’s something dark in his tone then, though his usual humor is present in the cadence. “Your mother isn’t pregnant, is she?”

“It’s not like they’d be able to tell what Crest an infant would have before it leaves the womb,” Sylvain says. “So I don’t think there’s a replacement heir waiting in the wings. Miklan was my only brother. Once they had me, they figured they were set. Besides, Mom’s at that age where pregnancy would come with a hell of a lot of complications, so I really hope for her sake that she isn’t.”

The knifepoint is gone in that instant, replaced by something more akin to a plate dropped by accident. Yuri looks away from Sylvain, but the redhead has already caught the expression. Yuri puts his hand on Sylvain’s shoulder, squeezes gently as he pushes off.

“It kills me that you can just say things like that,” Yuri mutters under his breath. Then, more clearly, “If you do this, I’m going with you.”

Sylvain raises an eyebrow. “You sure you want to?”

“Yep,” Yuri says. “So don’t ask again. My mind’s made up.”

*

“You want me doing _what_?” Annette squeaks.

Sylvain sits next to the Professor at the impromptu strategy meeting. She’s been kind enough to let Sylvain take the lead, which Sylvain is grateful for. If he can just keep his damn mind occupied, he won’t have to focus on keeping his focus off how shitty he feels about this.

Sylvain never liked any of Miklan’s friends. It’s not like he’ll be mowing down faces that he cares about. It’s just that they’re going to look at him like Miklan did, and Sylvain isn’t sure how he’s going to handle _that_.

“We’re probably going to need to split up in groups. Not sure how many yet, though,” Sylvain says. “If we do, I want you commanding one of those groups.”

“Me? Are you sure?” Annette seems to shrink into herself. “I’m… Y’know… pretty klutzy.”

Sylvain nods. “Annie, c’mon. You’ve got the highest grades out of all of us in mock-battles and field exercises when it comes to command. You know your stuff. If you’re worried about people getting injured…”

He looks up at Mercedes and meets her gaze. Mercedes’ ocean blues hold a glimmer of something knowing. She’s all too happy to answer the question before being asked. She squishes her shoulder against Annette’s. The redheaded girl is pulled out of her nerves almost instantly.

“I’d be happy to go with you, Annie,” Mercedes says, cheer in her voice. “I’ll make sure none of us get a scratch, so you can focus!”

“Awwh.” Annette hides behind her hands, cheeks going red. “But-”

“Annie, you _are_ that good,” Sylvain says.

The Professor giggles a bit at the display, a fond little smile on her face. “Sylvain’s right, Annette. If he’s going to lead Group One, I would also like for you to lead Group Two. You’re more than up to the task. I don’t want us to split more than that, though, if we can avoid it.”

Sylvain shouldn’t keep feeling surprised that Professor Eisner is letting him handle this, but it does catch him just slightly off guard. It is _his_ thing, after all. His family. His issues. He’s really lucky Professor Eisner agreed to assist, and bring the other classmates along.

“Okay, okay!” Annette says, shaking her hair somewhat loose in an attempt to regain some composure. “But who’s gonna be healing in Group One? If both me and Mercie are in Group Two…”

“Clearly someone who can keep up with our darling Gautier. Perhaps someone like me?”

Yuri raises his eyebrows at Sylvain from across the table, a teasing smirk on his lips. It’s exaggerated around the edges as far as Sylvain can tell, hiding ever present cracks in the violet-haired man’s mask. Worry twitches at the edges of his eyes, in the way his fingers delicately lace and unlace themselves. Sylvain notices. Under other circumstances, Sylvain would revel in the distraction.

Sylvain can swear he hears Felix’s eyes roll right out of his head. “This is a _strategy meeting_. Save your flirting for after we’re done here.”

Sylvain can’t help but wonder if maybe there’s a little truth. If Yuri’s really flirting, or just trying to keep Sylvain’s nerves from falling apart. Could it be both? The redhead can’t help but wonder a bit.

“Jokes aside,” Sylvain starts. “I do think that’s a good idea. You’re one of our higher-ranked healers. Between you and the Professor, possibly, I think Group One will be covered.”

Professor Eisner nods in approval. “I’d be glad to accompany Group One.”

It’s still odd, seeing the face that killed his brother look so damned proud of him. Sylvain still isn’t sure what to think about a lot of this, just knows that bandits need to be dealt with and a hardened mercenary isn’t shooting down his plans as unfeasible.

Sylvain Jose Gautier should be happy, should be a lot of things other than what he is. Scared. Spiteful. Anxious.

The quicker they can get this done, the better.


	7. Chapter 7

There’s still dew on the grass when Sylvain wakes up. They’re most of the way to where the bandits were last spotted, according to their scouts. Sylvain finds himself going through the early morning routine of getting things set up or put away as needed. A light breakfast would be in order, and then they’d be pressing on.

Onward towards the bandits.

Towards the last vestiges of the last mess Miklan left for him to clean up.

“Fucking hell, Sylvain. You’re just not going to sleep until this whole thing’s over, huh?” Yuri half-yawns.

“Excuse me, I got at least six hours of sleep last night. That was six more than I thought I was gonna get.”

Yuri drapes his arm across Sylvain’s shoulders. Sylvain finds himself welcoming the weight, even leaning into it a little. It’s a nice feeling, something that keeps his feet on the ground and his head focused on the tasks at hand. One step at a time.

“You’re thinking too much,” Yuri sighs.

“Maybe so,” Sylvain replies, “but a lot of people tell me I don’t think _enough_ , so I guess it’s gotta come out somewhere.”

Yuri pouts. It’s a full on tired pout with sad eyes and not quite enough energy to make it playful or sarcastic like usual. The expression pulls at Sylvain’s heart like one might pull a loose thread from a shirt. Or maybe a tapestry. But it makes no sense, because Sylvain is supposed to be the one lying in pieces at Yuri’s feet.

Sylvain turns just enough to face Yuri properly. He keeps Yuri’s arm around his shoulder, holding the violet-haired man’s elbow in place.

“Okay, what’s with that look?” Sylvain asks quietly, voice full of concern. “What’s wrong?”

Yuri breathes out, slow and gentle. “Sylvain Jose Gautier, are you really that dense?”

Oh. It occurs to Sylvain just a little too late that it’s just worry driving Yuri to look at him like this. Under other circumstances it’d make Sylvain get a little pink, make him want to layer on some teasing, but there’s too much distress. All Sylvain can think is that while Yuri is just _adorable_ , he doesn’t want to see this expression ever again. Yuri never makes faces like this, never lets his guard down far enough.

“I… Well, honestly, yeah,” he admits. “I don’t want to be when you’re making faces like that, but I think I need more than just ‘you’re dense’ to fix it. Gimme a hint, at least? What part is it that I gotta work on?”

“Oh, _Sylvain_.” Yuri says, closing his eyes and smiling so bittersweet.

“Much as I like hearing you say my name,” Sylvain presses, “that’s not an answer.”

“You’re kind of a dick sometimes, but you’re still way too hard on yourself,” Yuri concedes.

Sylvain isn’t wholly sure how to respond to that. It’s sweet, maybe a little too sweet for him to really believe. But Yuri doesn’t give him time to think, really. Yuri leans up and presses a kiss to Sylvain’s cheek, and Sylvain feels his entire mind go completely and utterly blank. For a good thirty seconds there’s no remnants of Miklan, no bandits, no Garreg Mach even. Just one Yuri Leclerc with a far more pleased smile on his face.

“For luck,” he says. “Stay in one piece for me, okay?”

“Yeah,” Sylvain replies, somehow breathless from something so fucking chaste. “I will.”

*

Settling into formation is almost too easy. The sun is bright, the skies are clear, and his hand axe gleams from its spot on his hip. They’re all set to begin the plan in earnest.

“Alright,” Sylvain calls. “They’ve set up improvised strongholds near each of the gates. Let’s cut off their escape.”

He’s all but forgotten the thoughts of his father’s reward. The more bandits dead, the more goodies they win. Sylvain wants to grit his teeth against it, say that that’s not why they’re trying to eliminate these stupid bandits, but funding is funding and since Professor Eisner pays for most things out of her own pocket.

“Let’s make sure they can’t hurt anyone else,” Sylvain says. He raises his lance. “Forward!”

*

Two strongholds down, Sylvain finally encounters someone who recognizes his face. The bandit sneers at him, teeth and axe gleaming.

“Well if it isn’t the _princess_.”

Sylvain bristles. Tries to angle that rage into something halfway productive, like ending this bandit’s life.

The bandit grins, all malice and wickedness. “No response? Huh. Boss said you were a lot more _talkative_.”

He could make some snappy remark about maybe he has nothing to say to someone as low as this asshole, but Sylvain doesn’t quite feel like wasting his breath. Or giving the bandit the sense of satisfaction. The only thing about Sylvain that Miklan ever loved was how Sylvain would beg for his life. Sylvain is not about to give this man the same kind of pleasure.

Sylvain isn’t fast per se, but he’s sturdy enough in a pinch. The bandit swings and the blade starts to cut into Sylvain’s chest, but it doesn’t get too much further than cracking his armor and scraping the skin with his lance in the way. Now, if he can just get the right leverage…

“Said he’d make you beg for his-”

For a good few seconds, all Sylvain sees is red. His Crest triggers in his veins and he shoves the bandit back, sending him stumbling. Light whirls around Sylvain, driving him forward, helping him crush his lance between the bandit’s ribs.

“You’re gonna _burn_ ‘til we meet again,” Sylvain hisses. “I’m real sure of it. Say hi to Miklan for me.”

Spite fuels the twist of his lance, makes him yank it back out and thrust it back in near the bandit’s throat. The bandit’s body gives, and he lays still. Sylvain tries not to think about that unfinished sentence. He unhooks the hand axe from his belt and leaves the lance behind.

*

They’ve blocked off the last of the escape routes. The straggling bandits panic under the disdainful eye of Professor Byleth Eisner and the trio of House Leaders. Yuri Leclerc takes the opportunity to corner Sylvain. The violet-haired man reaches for the broken armor.

“I thought I told you to stay in one piece,” Yuri says, brows all furrowed at the still kind of bleeding line in Sylvain’s chest.

“I mean, I’m not missing any limbs. At least I wasn’t last time I checked,” Sylvain says with an awkward laugh.

“Oh, will you stop that for two seconds?” Yuri mutters, pulling a thin healing array into being. “That could’ve been bad. You ran off on your own.”

“I can take a hit, and I did. Yuri, I’m fine.”

Still, Yuri casts his spell and Sylvain’s skin knits itself back together. Yuri’s gaze would be piercing if it wasn’t so tired already. Full of ache and exhaustion as he lifts his hand to heal a cut on Sylvain’s face that he didn’t know was there. The array is strange this time, though. Incomplete and with numbers that don’t quite line up.

Well, Yuri isn’t the only one who can read things upside down and backwards.

Sylvain grabs a hold of Yuri’s wrist. “Stop.”

“You’re bleeding,” Yuri argues.

“And you’re beyond capacity. Enough.” Sylvain sighs. “I’m the resident idiot around here, remember? Don’t go pulling that kind of reckless act, too.”

Yuri’s hand goes limp, and the array dissipates. The violet-haired man closes his eyes for a moment. “Would you come rescue me if I did?”

“Well, yeah, ‘course.” The words tumble out of Sylvain’s mouth before he can really stop them, but they’re the truth. Maybe that’s _why_ he can’t stop them. “Don’t you dare use that as a free pass, though, alright? I know you, you’re smart, but please. I don’t want you getting hurt-”

Yuri laughs, awkward and strained as he takes Sylvain’s face in his hands. “I should say the same to you, y’know. Though I guess you’re right. You’re reckless enough for the both of us that I’ll have to be extra careful.”

By all means, Sylvain should come up with something joking or suggestive or flirtatious to say. He should be able to, but he can’t because Yuri’s hands are on his face and Yuri’s tone is _awkward_ for once. Sweet and concerned, with just enough promise of a future that Sylvain’s heart flutters a bit in his chest. Surely he’s imagining at least some of it, but…

This feels nice. One good thing among a sea of awful things.

Yuri leans up, but Sylvain cuts him off by pressing their foreheads together and making the angle just a little too strange for a kiss.

“I’m covered in blood, soot, and sweat. I’m not going to taste very good,” Sylvain cautions.

Yuri shrugs. “Eh, I’ve had worse.”

“And you deserve better,” Sylvain counters.

Yuri lets out a dramatic sigh, slipping slightly left and leaning his head on Sylvain’s shoulder. “Really? You’re gonna play that card?”

The redhead laughs tiredly. “Look. Find me when I’m cleaner, okay? Then we’ll do, well, whatever it is you’re pushing for.”

Yuri strokes Sylvain’s cheek with his thumb. “I’m gonna hold you to that.”


	8. Chapter 8

When his father offers Sylvain the Lance of Ruin for a job well done Sylvain wants to throw it away. Toss it down some Goddess-forsaken well or break it in half. He can almost sense the death that rolls off the damn thing. But then Margrave Gautier raises his eyebrows, and Sylvain swallows every bit of vitriol he has and does the Faerghus thing. He grins and bears it, taking on the role his Crest has saddled him with. Scion to his father’s title, sworn protector of the land.

A boy who brings ruin.

*

Sylvain thinks this scene is strangely familiar. With the job done, the small army of students will take refuge in the Gautier estate for a day before the return trip begins. Sylvain returns to his room on the estate. His lock is picked open again with the same metallic clink of the same set of tools. This time, though, Yuri knocks before opening the door.

“Can’t drown myself in booze if I don’t have any on hand,” Sylvain sighs. “So don’t worry about that.”

Yuri shuts the door behind him, all quiet and soft despite those damned three-inch heels. Sylvain still doesn’t know how he does it. Yuri sits beside him, just like before, but there’s no bottle between them to be shared. Yuri’s cape hangs loose, jacket open, wolf chain forgotten. It’s like he’d rushed here.

Yuri doesn’t so much as look at the lance, propped up in the corner. He only looks at Sylvain.

“I heard what happened,” Yuri says. By his tone, one might think Sylvain lost a loved one.

Well, that isn’t really a lie.

Sylvain laughs, bitter and loud. “I think you’re the first person _not_ to congratulate me on sight, aside from Felix.”

Yuri pulls Sylvain’s face away from the lance with one hand, directing it at himself. His eyes are full of shimmering worry, and Sylvain notices that Yuri’s makeup is only just barely cleaned up from the battle. Goddess, did Yuri really _rush_ here?

Sylvain puts his hand over Yuri’s. “I, uh. I hate to disappoint, but I’m not in the best place for- It’s not that I don’t want to, I could try-”

Yuri cuts him off, fast and low. “I would never do that to you. I’m just here for you right now, okay? That’s it. I just wanted to see you. This isn’t about pleasing _anyone_.”

It’s so specific. So carefully tailored to Sylvain’s own fears and misgivings, and what he wants to do but not at the moment. He stares up at Yuri for a minute, mouth suddenly so very dry, feeling like nothing more than a shell of himself. Hell, maybe not even of _himself_ , but of an ideal. Yuri runs his thumb over the bags under Sylvain’s eyes.

“I’m here for you,” Yuri repeats. “Everyone else can go fuck themselves.”

“You sound scared,” Sylvain sighs.

Maybe Sylvain’s eyes betray him, but he swears he sees Yuri’s eyes shimmer. Sylvain doesn’t miss the fact that Yuri swallows down a lump in his throat.

“You made this face before. After I pulled you out of the well, before your father and brother got word to turn around,” Yuri says. “You completely shut down.”

Sylvain shrugs. He’s not sure he even has the words to respond. He thought he was going to die. He figured no one would find him. He figured Miklan would finally get what he wanted.

“If Miklan had told you to jump back in that well back then, you’d do it, wouldn’t you?”

The words are a knife that begins to twist in Sylvain’s gut. It’s something too angry and ashamed. Something a good bottle of wine might drown out. He wishes he’d raided the kitchens before Yuri arrived, if only to have a bottle to hide behind. Now, though? Now he’s stuck, wincing as though he’s been wounded.

Sylvain’s voice is barely a whisper. “Yuri.”

“Wouldn’t you?” Yuri asks. “Anything to get him to care. You would have died if it made him happy.”

Sylvain’s hands curl into fists hard enough to dig his nails into his palms. He would have done anything to earn Miklan’s love. Would take every beating. Every single word of hate. He would do it over and over again, no amount of suffering too great. It amounted to nothing.

Sylvain grits his teeth as Yuri pushes closer.

“Sylvain.”

“Yes!” Sylvain shouts, pulling back from Yuri’s grip. “Yes, fine, I’ll admit it! I would have done anything! Are you happy now? I wanted him to give a shit! I wanted a _brother_!”

Yuri breathes out slow. “That’s it. That’s more like it.”

Sylvain’s voice is choked, heavy. “Yuri. What the fuck.”

“Now you don’t look like a corpse. You look alive,” Yuri says. “Not gonna let anyone tell you to die now, are you?”

“ _No_.”

“Good.” Yuri grabs a hold of Sylvain’s shoulders. “You keep that fire. Don’t you dare let anyone put it out, Sylvain. Never let anyone take it from you.”

It hits too late, but it always does when it comes to Sylvain. Maybe too little, maybe too late, maybe just enough to send him lurching right into Yuri’s shoulder and holding on as tight as he can. Yuri is trying to keep him alive, keep him safe from his own mind. Goddess, did Yuri think he was going to-

 _“Stay in one piece for me.”_ Goddess. Yuri really meant it. He _meant_ it. He wants Sylvain to live.

Tears burn in Sylvain’s eyes. Yuri’s hands nest in Sylvain’s hair as the violet-haired man whispers sweet nothings in his ear, riding out the storm of emotion with him.

*

By the time Sylvain finally stops sobbing, it’s far later than he’d anticipated. The sky is darker, a myriad of candles having to be lit against the coming night. His face is puffy and streaked, his nose is clogged, and yet for some reason Yuri still lingers through the awful post-cry emptiness. Yuri’s shoes lay in a half-crumpled heap on the floor because he’d refused to sit on the bed with them on, and Sylvain’s lay askew on the carpet because what the hell, he may as well follow suit.

At the moment, Yuri’s head rests on Sylvain’s shoulder, nuzzled up against his neck. If Sylvain wasn’t already feeling drained, he’s sure he’d feel some sort of spike of attraction or possible embarrassment. Maybe shyness? Yuri isn’t just some random one-off, after all. Maybe Sylvain doesn’t completely understand the feelings in his gut, but he knows this isn’t what he usually feels.

Hell, they hadn’t even had sex. The pair just sits on Sylvain’s bed, content as they are. It feels strange, as far as Sylvain is concerned. Just being alone together and not immediately having to fill the empty space with sex. Not that sex isn’t nice, it _is_ and Sylvain enjoys it, but not having to is… nice, for lack of a better word.

“Shit. Curfew passed, didn’t it?” Sylvain manages, ruining the silence. “You stuck here?”

Yuri snorts. “Do you honestly think that a curfew would stop me from doing _anything_?”

“Alright, point taken,” Sylvain hums.

Yuri’s more like a cat than a wolf now, practically sitting in Sylvain’s lap. His legs are long and warmer than any blanket Sylvain’s had, and the pressure. Goddess, just the simple weight of Yuri’s arms around his shoulders is enough to make Sylvain feel like he might actually sleep.

Goddess. Sleeping here. With Yuri. Not _sleeping with him_ , but actually possibly getting some rest-

“People might talk if you stay,” Sylvain says. Or is it more like a warning?

“And since when has _that_ stopped me from doing anything?” Yuri says, adjusting his grip on Sylvain. “Do you want me to go?”

“Nope.”

The word comes out too quickly, too easily. Sylvain’s cheeks darken just a bit when Yuri laughs, breath tickling Sylvain’s neck. It’s all just too easy to fall into. The way his hands settle on Yuri’s waist, interlocked over the violet-haired man’s hip. Yuri is warm and solid and real, something that keeps his mind from spiraling back downwards into that pit of despair.

Each time Sylvain looks towards the Lance of Ruin Yuri pulls him back.

“That settles that, then,” Yuri says. “You make a nice pillow, you know that?”

Sylvain chuckles. “Well, you’re a pretty good blanket yourself.”

Yuri untangles just enough to run the pad of his thumb over Sylvain’s left eyelid, and Sylvain’s eyes flutter shut. It’s such a gentle motion, no threats of sudden violence or hurt. Sylvain leans into Yuri’s hand, into the touch, and hears Yuri gasp at the compliance. Yuri could do anything at this point, horrible or not, but he chooses stillness. Yuri’s thumb trembles before the feather-light touch is gone, settling instead on his cheek.

“You have bags under your eyes,” Yuri says, quiet and raw as though he’d just been kissed deep. “You should rest.”

“I should,” Sylvain agrees. “But will you be here when I wake up?”

Yuri swallows down a few responses before finally settling on one, something that has him at the mercy of the beautiful shock strewn across his face. “Ask me to stay, and I will.”

This is the part that Sylvain should mess up. The part he should hesitate on, the part that should lead him to break Yuri’s heart into a million pieces and then his own. But Sylvain just hums another chuckle into Yuri’s palm.

“Please stay with me tonight,” the redhead says. “I want you here with me.”

Sylvain swears he’s never been held so tight.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Belated birthday gift to myself: More Yurivain with a side of Sylvain having positive, supportive figures in his life.

Sylvain wakes up warm. He’s used to being jostled awake at odd hours, being rushed and told he needs to leave. Today he wakes up with a lazy, contented weight on his chest. Yuri’s head rests over Sylvain’s heart, and all the redhead can hear is the soft sound of his bedmate’s breathing. Yuri is languid on top of him, wrapped in most of Sylvain’s blankets. The early morning sun attempts to stroke Yuri’s face, but Sylvain shifts as if to guard him from it. Maybe Sylvain wants to be the only one with that privilege. Maybe Sylvain just knows how little sleep Yuri really gets. All Sylvain really knows is that Yuri begins to make muffled waking sounds, little hums and whines, and the redhead thinks that he likes hearing them.

Yuri is almost always so well composed, but maybe mornings are an exception. He’s bleary and only half-awake, nuzzling into Sylvain’s chest in protest of being pulled from sleep. Sylvain chuckles too warmly and too fondly than he has any right to.

“Here I thought you’d be more of a morning person,” Sylvain says.

“Oh, shut up,” Yuri mumbles, tiredly whapping Sylvain’s arm.

“You can go back to sleep if you want.”

Yuri squints for a moment, raising an eyebrow at Sylvain. “What time is it?”

“Guessing around seven-ish, give or take with the way the sun’s coming through the windows,” the redhead answers. “Early enough that maybe we could give ourselves a lazy morning if we wanted, I think.”

“Ah, the classic Gautier lazy morning,” Yuri starts to tease, but then Sylvain shakes his head.

“Nope. More like uncharted territory,” Sylvain says. “Never done anything like this.”

“You’re kidding.”

Sylvain shrugs. “People don’t stick around for this part. You’re a first.”

Yuri bites his tongue before he responds. “Clearly they don’t understand how comfortable you are to rest on.”

“Sure, angel.”

Yuri snorts at the nickname, contented to nest where he is.

*

“Oh! Sylvain, there you are,” Mercedes says, smiling in that soft and bright way of hers.

Sylvain smiles back. “Hey. Were you looking for me?”

“Mmhm, I have a few questions for you.”

Mercedes threads her arm through his own, and Sylvain suspects that this conversation isn’t going to be one he can wriggle his way out of. There’s no avoiding a conversation with Mercedes von Martritz if she’s decided to have one with you.

“That sounds serious,” Sylvain says.

“Well, it is and it isn’t,” Mercedes hums, escorting him down a quieter hallway. “I noticed that you and Yuri came down for breakfast together.”

Ah, yes, that. The walk of shame that really wasn’t, because no sex had happened and neither Sylvain nor Yuri were _actually_ ashamed. Still, the insinuation resting in Sylvain’s mind dusts just a bit of pink over his cheeks.

“Mercie, nothing _happened_.”

She frowns then, tilting her head. “Did you want anything to happen?”

He should know by now, really, that Mercedes is never going to act the way he expects. She’s cheerful and kind and never uses the Goddess’ name in vain, but she’s nowhere near as straight-laced as everyone else thinks. Sylvain affords himself a nervous chuckle, and Mercedes seems to ease up at his side.

“No. Not really,” Sylvain says. “I wasn’t ready for anything like that, and he didn’t push.”

Mercedes nods sagely. “That’s good.”

“He just… He came to check on me, that’s all. And he stayed with me,” Sylvain’s voice softens around the edges. “All he wanted was to make sure I was alright, and… Yeah.”

Now joy starts to seep back into Mercedes’ face, crinkling around the edges of her eyes. “It sounds like he helped quite a bit!”

“He did.”

“That’s very good,” Mercedes says. “If he didn’t, I would have some very strong words for him.”

Sylvain sputters a laugh. “Mercie!”

“What?” She uses her free hand to tap his nose. “As your honorary big sister now, I’ll give him a talking to if he ever makes you upset.”

Sylvain freezes in place, looking at Mercedes with wide eyes. He’s not quite sure what his blood is doing, going warm and then cold and then warm again. It’s not his Crest triggering, and that’s about all Sylvain knows. He gapes, unsure if this even is real. His last sibling hated him to the point of assassination and suffering, and yet here’s Mercedes welcoming him with open arms.

She stops alongside him, her own eyes widening a bit. “Oh, Sylvain. Was that too much? I’m so sorry-”

“No, it’s- I-”

The words won’t come. Sylvain’s tongue feels thick in his mouth and it argues with him over what should be said. What shouldn’t be said. It argues with him about everything, really, leaving him stunned in Mercie’s wake.

“It’s not that,” Sylvain manages. “You just- you caught me off guard. I’m, ah, I’m not used to-”

Mercie smiles sadly. “Not used to someone wanting to be your sibling? Is that it?”

For what feels like the hundredth time, Sylvain feels his eyes burn. He ducks his head down. “Sorry.”

Mercedes sighs, gentle and soft like the coo of a dove. She unthreads her arm from his and pulls him into a hug, rubbing gentle circles into his back. “Oh, sweetie. That’s nothing you have to be sorry about. It’s alright.”

*

When he gets back to Garreg Mach, Sylvain does his best to let the rest of his datemates and friends with benefits down gently. It doesn’t feel right anymore, not with this strange and fluttering affectionate feeling he has for a certain violet-haired rogue. He earns himself a slap in the face, but at least it’s all settled.

This thing he has for Yuri is stronger than he’d like to admit.

He wonders what he’ll do when boredom strikes, when bad feelings arise, but maybe he’ll just focus on his spellwork. Professor Eisner says he’s worked hard enough to earn the Warlock certification. Maybe he can become a dark knight after all. Goddess, maybe he really _can_ do this.

Maybe he can actually figure out a way to be himself.

*

“Sylvain,” Seteth greets, quickly matching Sylvain’s pace through the Great Hall.

Sylvain contemplates stopping, but now both he and Seteth have momentum. The redhead slows so Seteth doesn’t have to run, so Sylvain can show that he’s paying attention.

“Sir?”

“I received a report on what happened during the mission within your family’s territory,” Seteth explains.

Sylvain braces for some form of chastise, some critique. The redhead goes over every single mistake he made, every time he slipped and had to regroup, had to think of _something_ -

“Exemplary work. The Battle of the Eagle and Lion approaches, and I wonder if you would consider taking the role of one of the ‘generals’ within your house.”

Sylvain does his best not to choke on air. “Sir?”

Seteth should be telling him not to be such a whore, not that he personally wants to see Sylvain in command. Again. Sothis’ tits, this is _weird_. Sylvain folds his arms behind his back in the typical Faerghus way, if only to keep from showing that his hands are sweaty. Seteth looks at him with confidence, not with distaste.

“Byleth gave me a _complete_ report,” Seteth says, emphatic. “And though this matter is something you will ultimately have to bring up with your house leader, I do hope you’ll consider. You’ll have to be swift about it, though. The house leaders will have to finalize their plans soon.”

“Seriously?” He can’t help it now, Sylvain just can’t keep the surprise off his face. “You’re sure you’re talking to the right guy about this?”

Seteth’s perfect façade cracks a bit, an odd smirk playing at his lips. “While I don’t necessarily approve of your, shall we say, _habits_ , clearly that doesn’t affect your leadership skills. Your recent excursion proves that hand over fist. I know exactly who I’m talking to, Sylvain Jose Gautier.”

Sylvain’s mouth hangs open just a bit. There’s a little annoyance in Seteth’s gaze, because Sylvain has a reputation for a reason, but then there’s something brighter. Something that Sylvain doesn’t know if he hopes is pride or not. Pride is pressure where he’s from, but this is different. It settles too oddly in his spine. This feeling makes the redhead want to stand straighter, not hunker down.

“Did my father pay you to say that?”

The words are out of Sylvain’s mouth before he can think, really. And it wouldn’t have been the first time that Margrave Gautier had paid someone to make Sylvain feel good about himself. To outright lie. Seteth’s brows twitch in stronger annoyance, maybe indignity, but then he’s stopped cold. Seteth’s face freezes, not unlike when he caught Sylvain checking the wells for Flayn. Seteth swallows, making an expression Sylvain’s never seen before.

“He most certainly did not,” Seteth says. “I cannot be bought, Sylvain, nor threatened. I only brought this up because I thought you would be a good fit.”

“I. I see,” Sylvain manages. “Thank you, sir. I’ll give it some thought.”

“I sincerely hope that you do,” Seteth says, voice easing and facing forward. “You have a lot of potential, Sylvain. You’re commanding better than I was at your age.”

“No shit?” Again, Sylvain’s mouth moves faster than his mind. He nearly bites his lips shut. “Er-”

“No shit,” Seteth repeats, tone somewhat jovial. “Just refrain from such language around Flayn.”

Sylvain doesn’t know what his face does in that moment, his mind still reeling over Seteth repeating his curse and nearly laughing about it, but it’s enough that Seteth pats his back before splitting off. He heads towards the fishing pond rather than the market.

“You’d best decide before the end of the week,” Seteth calls.

Sylvain thinks he already knows his answer.


	10. Chapter 10

Yuri grins next to Sylvain, completely distracted from his food. The violet-haired man twirls his fork between his fingers, a stupidly elegant maneuver. “So you said you’d do it, right?”

Sylvain, frankly, doesn’t know why he’s feeling so sheepish. Some part of him wants to hide from this look Yuri’s giving him. This absurdly cute, hopeful look that has his eyes just slightly crinkled at the edges. This isn’t anything big, or anything that even _involves_ Yuri, and yet he’s just so damned encouraging. So _alight_. Sylvain wonders if he deserves this.

“Yeah,” Sylvain says, scratching at the back of his head absently. “His Highness was happy, and Hanneman approved it.”

“General Gautier,” Yuri hums, pillowing his cheek in his palm. “That has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

Sylvain lets out an awkward huff of a laugh. “Eh, maybe? I just hope I can live up to it.”

Yuri raises his eyebrows. “You know, you might be the least confident person in the whole continent right now. You should be gloating.”

“What, like I’ve already won?” Sylvain asks. “Professor Eisner is participating, and Professors Hanneman and Manuela are sitting out. We’re already at a disadvantage. I have a few weeks to try and come up with a counter strategy, and that’s it.”

Byleth Eisner stands right in the middle of a weird bridge of sorts. Both a Professor and a student all at the same time. That’s how she got away with this, at least this year. Which, good for her. Sylvain has seen how excitedly Byleth has been making her preparations, studying maps of Gronder Field, and it actually warms his heart a little. He can’t remember seeing her look so outwardly happy. When they’d rescued Flayn she’d been relieved, but not necessarily excited and joyful.

In the end, Sylvain only realizes his mind has gotten off track when he hears the gentle coo of Yuri’s laugh.

“You are so cute when you get serious,” Yuri says quietly.

Sylvain feels as though he’s just taken a brick to the head. His smile turns crooked, genuine. “What?”

For exactly two seconds there is an innocence in Yuri’s eyes. An actual innocence and honesty that tugs at Sylvain’s heart, and a soft, uneven little smile. Then there’s a flicker of fear. Ah, the age-old dance of ‘shit, I think I might be vulnerable right now’. Sylvain knows it well enough. Yuri’s features turn catlike, layering on some sex appeal to cover his tracks. His smirk is sharp, showing teeth.

“Did I stutter?”

For once, Sylvain feels he might honestly know better. The redhead just bumps Yuri’s shoulder with his own, a teasing lilt to his voice. “It’s just such a rare treat, being praised by you. I was surprised.”

“ _Ugh,_ you’re terrible.” Yuri laughs, shoving him off.

Sylvain snorts in response. “What? Can’t take what you dish out?”

And there it is again, for all of a split second. Something genuine and sweet, and maybe a little sad.

*

“My brother tells me that you were instrumental in my rescue,” Flayn says, frankly startling the shit out of Sylvain.

He nearly snaps to attention when she sits down on the bench beside him. The redhead is certain that Seteth isn’t going to _literally_ kill him for being near his baby sister, but that doesn’t mean all the worry subsides. His own reputation, that he’s trying to change mind you, rings loud in his ears. She tilts her head at him, vibrant green hair spilling over her shoulders as she sits with her ankles crossed.

“Uh,” Sylvain begins inelegantly. “I mean, the whole Monastery pitched in. It’s not like I did something special.”

Flayn frowns just a little, eyes narrowing. “But Seteth told me that you were looking in places others didn’t think to check. As the rescued party, I believe I have the authority to say that counts for something.”

Sylvain rubs at the back of his head. Had he really been looking where others hadn’t? He didn’t think he was, but Flayn’s right in a way. A lot of the time he was searching alone, or with Yuri. Sylvain was the one opening up all the wells while the knights complained about how their forces were divided.

When the redhead looks back at Flayn he finds her gaze rather piercing. Her eyes are brilliant and focused, as though there’s the power of an entire sun hidden behind them. Sylvain finds himself feeling transparent.

“Is it really so strange for you to be receiving gratitude?” Flayn asks. “Your expression tells me you don’t get it very often.”

Okay, this is really, really weird. Just absurdly weird. Sylvain doesn’t know whether or not he should laugh, but an awkward sound muscles its way up and out of his throat. Somehow Flayn’s gaze is even more piercing now. She’s not unlike her brother in that respect. He wonders just how much they share.

Goddess, what Sylvain would have given to have that kind of relationship with Miklan.

“I’m going to take that silence as a no,” Flayn says.

Sylvain gives a pathetic excuse for a laugh in response. “Has, uh, has Seteth told you about my reputation?”

The supposedly-chaste Flayn averts her gaze with a perfect ‘who, me?’ expression. “Not in earnest, but I’ve heard stories from Dorothea and Hilda. Naturally, my brother doesn’t know that I know of such things.”

Flayn may be a kid, but she’s about the same age as Lysithea. Fourteen, fifteen. It makes sense enough. Puberty is a bitch, and Seteth can’t exactly hide Flayn from it. If Flayn is seeking out Dorothea and Hilda, then there’s nothing that can really be done to hide that side of the world from her.

Sylvain leans on his elbows, pretending to be vaguely interested in Ingrid’s most recent attempt to catch a Fodlandy for the fishing contest. She pulls up an Albenian Herring.

“Well,” Sylvain says. “Then you know how people talk about people like me. So, yeah. I guess I’m not used to it.”

“It’s a shame,” she sighs. “Because it appears to my brother, at least, that you’re working to better yourself. If people fail to recognize that, then shame on them.”

Wait. _What?_ Seteth said what now? It isn’t a lie, but Sylvain can’t help but squint. His face is twisted and contorted in confusion as he turns to face Flayn. “I- what? I mean, thanks, I guess, but- wait. What exactly has Seteth been telling you?”

“You haven’t been spotted going out on dates recently, or coming back to the Monastery at early hours. Not that dating itself is bad practice, but… well, I’m sure you’re aware of my meaning,” Flayn gleefully clarifies. “My brother describes you now as having a sense of purpose. He’s praised your dedication and your work ethic, especially as of late. Even says that he’d like to try his hand at chess against you! Believe me, that is _not_ something he says often.”

Sylvain’s throat suddenly feels dry.

Flayn’s eyebrows knit up into a worried little tent before he can even hope to get words out. She speaks slower now. “He’s been regaling me of these little things during my convalescence. I hope you don’t mind too much, it’s been a bit of a relief to not have him wholly focused on me.”

“Yeah, it’s- it’s all good,” Sylvain says, swallowing down a lump in his throat. Damn it. “That just. It means a lot, coming from him. Well, and you.”

Flayn giggles at his side. Ingrid hauls up another fish, a big one. It’s not a Fodlandy, it doesn’t have the right markings for that, but Sylvain suspects that it’d be more than good enough for a feast.

Good enough. _Good enough._ Maybe he really can be good enough.

*

Sylvain goes to sit down in his usual spot for Professor Hanneman’s lecture on advanced black magic. The Officer’s Academy doesn’t enforce an assigned seating system, but many of the students are creatures of habit, especially those of Faerghus, and Sylvain is no different. Routine brings familiarity, which is a comfort in a world where, at least socially, everything is changing for Sylvain Jose Gautier.

Everything is in order except for a small box with a note attached. Nondescript, paper covering tied with twine. Odd. It’s not like any of his old datemates had tried to win him back after he’d cut ties. What could this be? Sylvain peeks at the note to try and find the addressee. Maybe they wouldn’t accept it if they thought it came from him, but he could at least try to find the right place to put it. He thumbs the note open carefully.

_“A knife like this saved my ass at Gronder a while back. Take care, General Gautier.”_

The script is elegant but simple, and there’s a tiny heart drawn at the bottom of the note. It takes Sylvain a moment before it hits him in earnest. He opens the box without thinking then, to find a sturdy blade with a sheath made for being hooked on a belt. The knife itself- _knife,_ it’s a dagger really- is pale like moonlight but tempered. The grip is a deep, almost seductive shade of violet.

Sylvain swallows hard. It figures that Yuri would turn this around on him. He makes a note to never tease Dimitri about the girl and the dagger _ever_ again. With the way his heart’s racing, clearly it can actually work.


	11. Chapter 11

Sylvain Jose Gautier is in the marketplace when Yuri finds him next. The scene is almost a perfect echo. It’s a bright day, Sylvain is perusing Anna’s selection of new white magic texts, and the moment Sylvain finds one that he thinks Yuri might like there’s a hand overtop his. Yuri’s skin is still soft, but just a touch cooler than it should be.

“What?” Sylvain chuckles. “I’m not allowed to retaliate?”

“Not devoting your whole existence to strategizing then?” Yuri hums, pulling Sylvain’s hand away from the book and towards himself.

“Nah, not all of it,” Sylvain admits. “Some of it’s devoted to thinking about you.”

Yuri breathes out a laugh. “Lucky me.”

Yuri doesn’t quite look right, Sylvain thinks. The way he carries himself is different, tired. His shoulders sag just a touch, as though he’s fighting off an ache. Foundation is thick under his eyes. Come to think of it, Sylvain hasn’t seen Yuri in the past week and a half.

The Church had sent Byleth Eisner and a few of the Wolves off on some mission or other; that much Sylvain knew for sure. Byleth had decided not to bring along any of the Houses’ generals for sake of not disturbing their preparations. Sylvain had been relieved at the time, but not so much now. Had Yuri gotten hurt?

The violet-haired man still attempts a winning smile, though, and it stops being just an attempt when he sees the blade hooked on Sylvain’s belt.

“You like it,” Yuri hums.

“I do,” Sylvain replies.

“Good, I’m glad.”

Sylvain breathes out, sweeping his arm around Yuri’s shoulders and beginning to walk them both out of the market. He leans close, speaks quiet. “So, you gonna tell me what happened?”

Yuri feigns surprise. “Why, whatever do you-”

“Cut the crap,” Sylvain urges, worry pinching his brows together. “You’re hurting. Maybe not obviously to anyone else, but obvious enough to me.”

Yuri exhales slowly, eyes forward. “I’m fine, Sylvain.”

“No you’re not,” the redhead argues. “Otherwise you’d be doing that pose where you set your shoulders back and lean because it makes your bust-to-waist ratio look good.”

Yuri’s smile turns into a thin line, incredulous as he looks at Sylvain out of the corner of his eyes.

“What? Thought I didn’t notice that?” Sylvain says. “I’m not _straight_.”

“Not you, too,” Yuri grumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I swear to _Sothis_ , if you take me to the infirmary…”

Sylvain breaks away, turning to face Yuri head on. The redhead has barely seen Yuri looking even halfway reluctant, and yet here he is. Yuri tilts his head down, looking up at Sylvain through his eyelashes. It’s not his stock-standard flirty look, though. There’s something sharper about this particular glance.

“Like I would force you to do anything,” Sylvain says. “Besides, you’d probably stab me with my own knife if I tried. Which, good response for non-consensual _anything_. That said, do you _need_ to go to the infirmary?”

Yuri shakes his head. “No. I’ve hit tolerance for white magic healing. I just need rest.”

Sylvain isn’t sure what to feel about that. All he knows is that when he hits his body’s tolerance for white magic, when healing just straight up stops working, he’s been really fucking close to death. He puts his hands on Yuri’s arms, probably overly gentle and overly worried. He’s kicking himself for not asking Yuri if he had any missions planned…

“Then why are you here?” Sylvain asks. “You should be in bed or something.”

Yuri squints. “Now that just _reeks_ of a missed opportunity.”

Sylvain rolls his eyes. “And you call me insufferable.”

Yuri snorts at that, gently slapping Sylvain’s shoulder. “You get what you give.”

Augh, this is going nowhere fast. Sylvain still doesn’t know why Yuri is out here despite his injuries, despite needing to rest more than be all the way out here in those stupid heels. The redhead pouts a little.

“So you’re saying I constantly worry you, huh? Guess turnabout’s fair play, then.”

Yuri is not one to startle easily, especially at something so simple, yet his eyes widen just a fraction. He opens his mouth to speak, but the only thing that tumbles out is a half-choked laugh. It’s an awkward, sweet sound.

“Alright, alright, fine, you win,” Yuri says. “I dare you to spirit me away and dote on me, if that’s what you want.”

Oh. Sylvain’s mouth quirks up into a devious little smile. “You asked for it. So, do you have injuries on your back or-”

“For the love of-! Just escort me like a normal human being, Sylvain. I don’t need a bridal carry.”

Are Sylvain’s eyes are deceiving him, or there really is some pink dusting Yuri’s cheeks?

*

The Fetters of Dromi dangle from Yuri’s fingers, beautiful and opulent and horrible. Sylvain would be lying through his teeth if he even hinted at liking a Hero’s Relic, but he will admit that the bauble looks pretty enough on Yuri. Anything would look pretty on Yuri, though. Sylvain’s own blankets look nice on him, where the lay half-wrapped around Yuri’s hip as the violet-haired man gets comfortable on Sylvain’s bed

“You never said you had a Crest,” Sylvain says, watching as the gold glimmers in the light.

“That would be because I never brought it up, my dear,” Yuri says. “It’s a rare one, so I try not to.”

“Aubin.” Sylvain rests his arms on the bed, folded and pillowing his cheek. “I thought that one had died out. Hell, did it ever get started aside from Saint Aubin?”

“I don’t know,” Yuri admits. “I’ve never really cared enough to learn.”

Sylvain squints at him. “Bullshit.”

“I said I don’t know.”

“The ‘not caring enough to learn’ part,” Sylvain adds. “You’re attentive as shit, not caring is not your style.”

Yuri hums thoughtfully, curling around Sylvain’s pillow. “You sound so certain.”

All Sylvain can think about is the way Yuri had worried after him days after pulling him out of the well. How gentle his hands were, how he divined answers from the redhead’s near-catatonic stupor. How he was almost always right, because he was almost always listening.

“I think I am,” Sylvain replies. “Spending all this time with you again after so long… You haven’t changed all that much, angel.”

There’s something uncertain in the tilt of Yuri’s brows. He extends his hand, the one with the Fetters of Dromi attached, towards Sylvain. Sylvain meets his fingers without hesitation. The slight jolt in Yuri’s fingertips says that he didn’t expect this so quickly. The gold is warm from Yuri’s skin, but that isn’t what Sylvain is after. Sylvain laces their fingers together with purpose, feeling the soft skin.

“You haven’t changed either, Sylvain,” Yuri says. “Not since the damned day I met you. You remember that? Not the well. Before.”

Sylvain takes a deep breath. A quiet one. Much of his childhood now is a haze between decent memories with Felix, Ingrid, and Dimitri, and begging Miklan not to kill him. His time on Count Rowe’s estate mostly stuck out to him because of that striking image of Yuri, haloed against the sun.

“Remind me?” Sylvain asks carefully.

Yuri lets out a sound between a laugh and a sigh. “Maybe I’m asking too much. Your asshole brother was still scrambling your brain.”

“Aw, come on,” Sylvain whines, tugging Yuri’s hand closer. “Don’t give up on me yet. Just a hint. Please?”

Yuri laughs properly this time, stretching out his fingers and resting them under Sylvain’s chin. “I think it’s why you started calling me ‘angel’.”

“What? But that _was_ the well,” Sylvain says. “Looking up at you through all that, you were framed by the sun. Like you had a halo.”

Yuri’s mouth does an odd thing, quirking too oddly to be a smile but not turning low enough to be a frown. He grazes Sylvain’s cheek with his thumb, but then suddenly he’s yanking his hand back. Sylvain flinches slightly at the motion. Yuri isn’t winding up to hit him, though. Yuri is peeling off the Fetters of Dromi. The Crest stone alights until it doesn’t, when contact is severed from Yuri’s skin. The Fetters jingle lightly as they hit Sylvain’s mattress.

Sylvain’s brows knit upward. “What was that about?”

“I don’t know all of what that thing can do,” Yuri says, turning back to him. “And I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Sylvain’s face goes softer then, mouth hanging slightly open at the thought. Yuri doesn’t want him to get hurt. Isn’t embittered by him, doesn’t want to kick his ass or slap him for saying something rude. Sylvain isn’t aware of the full gamut of emotion his face goes through, but it’s enough that Yuri’s whole face collapses into a specific kind of heartbreak. Secondhand, with your heart swelling up so much that it cracks and leaks the feelings you’ve been trying to keep hidden.

“Get up here,” Yuri demands, despite his voice being delicate and cracked.

“What-?”

“Get up here,” Yuri repeats, grabbing at Sylvain’s shoulders. “And stop making that face.”

Sylvain does as he’s asked, pulled up from the floor like a ship might haul an anchor up. Yuri clings to him, arms threaded around Sylvain’s shoulders and hands gripping tight.

“No one is gonna fucking hurt you,” Yuri breathes into Sylvain’s collarbone. “I swear it.”

Sylvain returns the embrace, albeit carefully. Yuri winces when Sylvain puts pressure on his upper back, so he shifts his arms away from the wounds.

…the wounds. On his back.

Oh.

*

_Sylvain was good at wandering, but he was also good at finding his way back to where he needed to be. Where he really needed to be right now was away from Miklan, because Miklan was in one of his dark moods. A kind of mood punctuated with the smell of alcohol and pain of some sort on Sylvain. Sylvain liked Count Rowe’s estate already. There were plenty of places to sneak off to and hide in. He’s counted at least ten different escape routes already._

_That said, Sylvain wasn’t immune to distraction. Nor was he immune to muffled sounds of ‘oh Goddess this hurts but I’d better not make a damned sound’. A pained whine had Sylvain turning a corner down the hall and coming to a door left open._

_He shouldn’t have peeked inside, but that would be like asking a cat not to chase or Miklan not to drink. It would be a hopeless request. Sylvain pressed the door open just a little more, just enough to see a boy with purple hair tending to wounds on his back that he couldn’t reach. The boy swore as he tried to work, eyes squeezed shut as he fiddled with bandages that weren’t placed right…_

_Sylvain walked in, against his better judgement. Against every part of him that said that this kid was going to hit him once he discovered Sylvain there._

_The boy startled at the sound of the door closing, as to be expected. Sylvain held his hands up._

_“Easy! Easy, I just wanna help,” Sylvain said._

_The boy stared at him for a minute before even trying to speak. “Who’re you?”_

_“I’m Sylvain,” the redhead said, skipping the formal introductions. “You look like you’re having a rough time. Let me help?”_

_“…Okay.”_

_The boy’s voice was thin and quiet. Tired. Face devoid of hope in a way that made Sylvain’s heart feel like it was shattering. The redhead wasted no time, and he didn’t even have to go out of the room to look for supplies. The boy knew what he was doing, at least, even if he was having trouble managing it._

_The boy had so many scars. His back may as well have been a map for all the detailing that was on it. The boy hissed when Sylvain cleaned the new wounds, two long streaks down his back. They were uneven, and Sylvain hoped that Miklan wasn’t the cause. He could deal with being Miklan’s personal punching bag, but others?_

_“What happened?” Sylvain asked. “Someone cut off your wings?”_

_The boy laughed with absent joy, bitter and biting. “Do you really care?”_

_“Of course I do!” Sylvain protested. “You’re hurt! Why wouldn’t I care?”_

_“You don’t even know my name.”_

_“Then just tell me,” Sylvain said, starting to bandage the injured flesh. “Or. Don’t. Whatever you want. You don’t have to.”_

_The boy was still for a long time, silent, letting Sylvain fret and help him with bruises on his arm and the tiniest cut on his forehead. When the redhead was finally satisfied, and the boy tucked safely into bed, Sylvain went to leave._

_“Wait,” the boy called._

_Sylvain stopped, turning on his heel and practically racing back to the boy’s side. “Yeah? What’s up? Do you need anything? I can go get it-”_

_“It’s not that,” the boy interrupted. He hesitated for a moment before meeting Sylvain’s gaze, filled with uncertainty and maybe a little fleck of light. “Call me Yuri.”_

_Sylvain smiled, big and crooked. “Yuri. Okay, nice to meet you, Yuri.”_

_The boy, Yuri, finally smiled at him. “Nice to meet you, too, Sylvain.”_

*

“Who hurt you back then?”

Yuri startles for a moment in Sylvain’s arms. He looks up at the redhead. “What?”

“You had two big gashes down your back.” Sylvain pantomimes with one hand. “Who did that? You never told me.”

Yuri lets out a broken-sounding chuckle, half-hiding in Sylvain’s chest. “You actually remembered. Thought for sure that one was a goner.”

“Just took a little time, that’s all,” Sylvain says. “I just. If it was Miklan, I-”

Yuri shakes his head. “No. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t anything, really. Just opened up a wound that hadn’t properly healed yet. Miklan hadn’t been there long enough to start shit. And, believe me, if he’d tried I would’ve killed him.”

“Okay,” Sylvain breathes. “That’s… That’s fair enough. And this recent thing, it aggravated that?”

“Yes, and I really will be fine after a few days’ rest,” Yuri says. “So don’t go turning those damned tables on me. This is not you being reckless.”

Sylvain narrows his eyes, giving a little smirk. “You know what? No, I’m gonna turn the tables when I want. And right now I want to, especially if that means annoying you into staying off your feet.”

Yuri makes a sweet sound, something of a whine mixed with a laugh. It’s pathetic and adorable, and it makes Sylvain laugh. Yuri shifts, angling himself up just a bit above the redhead. There’s no real lust here, there’s too much exhaustion in the air, but there’s something familiar and bright in Yuri’s eyes.

Yuri lets his smile be soft. He lets himself be vulnerable and real. “Will you actually let me kiss you this time?”

Goddess. _Goddess_.

“Yeah,” Sylvain replies. “I think I’d like that.”


	12. Chapter 12

Kissing Yuri is like the glide of velvet on skin. Yuri’s soft and persistent, and every chance he gets he lifts a perfectly manicured hand to Sylvain’s face and pulls him in. The redhead considers it a good luck charm now. After every single kiss something undeniably good happens. Sylvain had won a debate with Edelgard, aced the right black magic tests to get closer to becoming a Dark Knight, his favorite dish was in the dining hall…

And for the third time this week, Sylvain finds himself down in Yuri’s quarters.

The violet-haired man strokes Sylvain’s face and, like clockwork, Sylvain kisses him again and again until Yuri is laughing and hiding in his chest.

Yuri whaps Sylvain’s arm lightly. “Damn you, Gautier.”

“C’mon,” Sylvain hums. “You love it.”

Yuri’s practically unseen now, shielded by Sylvain’s chest and the blanket they’re under. Still, Yuri rubs little circles into Sylvain’s neck. The redhead gives a contented little sigh at the massage. When it starts to turn into a bit more than _just_ a sigh, Sylvain clamps his lips shut and clears his throat.

“Oh, I see,” Sylvain teases. “This is revenge.”

Yuri pops out from his hiding place. “Or maybe it’s a deflection.”

“Pshh, what? No way, you don’t show your hand like that,” Sylvain says.

“Mm, not to anyone I’m up against,” Yuri says, nuzzling into Sylvain’s neck. “But I’m not up against you.”

Sylvain is about to be a smartass, about to counter with a stupidly fond grin that Yuri certainly is pressed up against him, but Yuri seems to read his thoughts before they hit the air. The violet-haired man groans, pressing his fingers to Sylvain’s lips lazily.

“No. Just. Don’t. I know what you’re thinking.”

“Oh, really?”

Yuri unfolds from Sylvain just a touch, enough to prop his chin up in his hand. “How’s planning going? All those involved leave for Gronder in two days, right?”

And there’s a deflection in earnest. It makes Sylvain laugh, though. “Yeah, two days. Still trying to figure out how to compensate for Professor Eisner being there.”

“Well,” Yuri hums, “I may have an ace up my sleeve.”

Sylvain squints. Maybe he shouldn’t be so wary, but this is the Lord of the Underground here. Yuri rolls his eyes in response.

“Don’t give me that look, I wasn’t about to suggest you _cheat_ ,” Yuri says. “As it turns out, Ms. Favorite Professor also has misgivings about her place in the battle. We may have worked something out.”

“May have?” Sylvain repeats.

Yuri grins, wicked and confident. “Constance will be participating under the banner of the Black Eagles. And me?” He traces a line down Sylvain’s chest. “I’ll be an honorary Blue Lion. One of yours.”

Sylvain blinks. “Wait, shit, really?”

“Mmhm,” Yuri hums. “As Byleth is Rhea’s favorite, too, the Archbishop was more than willing to compromise.”

The redhead laughs, bright and big. “Well, that changes everything. How long have you known?”

“Was just finalized yesterday,” Yuri says.

“Damn. We’re gonna have to talk strategy again on the way there.”

Yuri raises an eyebrow. “And not right now?”

Sylvain shakes his head, a lazy smile on his face. “Nah. Right now I kinda want you all to myself.”

*

Sylvain isn’t blind. He hasn’t missed the tiny, encouraging looks Mercedes has been giving him when Yuri stands just a little too close by his side. There are tiny moments that his hand brushes against Yuri’s during their mock war table meetings, and somehow it helps Sylvain keep his head clear. Sylvain thinks Mercedes knows this, and it makes her giggle every so often. The redhead wonders if he should be embarrassed instead of gleeful.

Things are going well. They’ve almost completely worked out their strategy for the beginning of the battle, and have gone through several different scenarios of how it could turn. The redhead feels _good_ , each planned movement feels like something he can be proud of. It’s too early to say he’s winning this particular game of chess, but at least he feels there’s a path to victory.

Sylvain makes a suggestion to Dimitri about his placement in the formation, and Dimitri laughs.

“Maybe you should be the one in charge of this instead of me,” the blond says. “You seem to have more to say than I do.”

“What?” Sylvain says. “Don’t sell yourself short, Highness.”

The way Dimitri frowns makes Sylvain acutely aware that the prince is having doubts. It feels weird, being the confident one for a change and having it be honest. Much of it was bravado before, false down to the very blood running in Sylvain’s veins, but it had settled Dimitri. Made him feel better about being the responsible one.

“Hey, each of us is supposed to challenge the others a little, right? To come up with the best strategy?” Sylvain says, trying to meet Dimitri’s gaze. “All of us.”

Silence lingers for a few moments, with a few more uncertain glances at the Crown Prince of Faerghus, before Annette pipes up with both hands on the war table. “Yeah, that’s exactly it! It’s all of us working together. We all have unique thoughts on this, and we’ve gotta share ‘em! They all count!”

It troubles Sylvain when Dimitri seems unconvinced, even if he pretends to be. Their prince is capitulating already.

*

When Dimitri gives a pretty rousing speech, but Sylvain isn’t listening to it. He’s already three steps ahead, trying to calculate where the class stands against the Black Eagles and the Golden Deer. Whoever controls the central hill wins, so they have to get there _fast_. Granted, challenging both opposing houses at the same time sounds like the opposite of good strategy.

But that’s what Byleth Eisner did during the mock battle months ago. She went up against two houses at once, using distance to her advantage and the chaos of the other two houses fighting each other against them. Sylvain _thinks_ that Byleth is going to do the same thing here, with the way the Deer’s formation is. Take the hill, use the advantageous terrain to decimate the other houses.

Not if Sylvain has anything to say about it.

*

The Golden Deer technically get to the hill first, and Claude is devastating with that ballista. It’s enough that Dimitri freezes for a moment. Sylvain doesn’t really blame him, because Claude von Riegan has a dangerous smirk on his face when he takes aim.

“Keep moving!” Sylvain urges, tugging Dimitri along.

They keep running, Goddess do they keep running. But still, there had been a mistake in leaving Claude mostly unattended to with the Ballista. Leonie fights Dedue off, while Byleth herself is tied up with Ferdinand.

“Follow my lead!” Sylvain says.

Dimitri does as asked, weapon drawn. When they’re too close for the Ballista to fire without killing them or missing horribly, Claude retreats. Well, running for his life would be a more apt description. Claude is an ace with a bow, that’s for damn sure, but he isn’t quick enough to fell both Sylvain _and_ Dimitri.

Sylvain stops when he reaches the Ballista. It’s not like he can use it, but there _is_ one thing he can do to eliminate a threat. Dimitri skids to a halt and damn near breaks some of the boards. Well, maybe that’s not such a bad thing with Sylvain’s intent.

“What?” Dimitri calls.

“Cover me,” Sylvain replies, drawing the knife Yuri gave him.

It’s sturdy, and it cuts through the ropes keeping some of the Ballista mechanisms functioning. Helps him pry off a cog as well. Sylvain hears the sound of Dimitri’s lance on an opponent, and an indignant screech, but the redhead doesn’t dare shift his attention. Not yet.

“Sylvain!” Dimitri calls.

“Almost-!” He cuts one more cord, and the Ballista sags. “Got it!”

When Sylvain gets back up he has to fend off a Miasma spell from Hubert, but he can’t help but think that the mage looks just a little impressed. Well, before Dimitri makes him yield anyway.

When the prince himself turns back, he notices Sylvain’s work and grins. It doesn’t feel completely right, though. It’s too sharp. Too wild.

But there’s no time. They have a battle to fight, after all.

*

Sylvain is one of exactly three of the Blue Lions left on the field. Dimitri has had to retreat already, and only Dedue, with his mountainous endurance, and Yuri, with his stupidly good wit and flexibility, are left. That being said, only two of the Black Eagles, Edelgard and Petra are left as well. The Golden Deer are a bit more numerous.

Sylvain is tired. He’s more than tired. This battle has been hours long, and it’s been a good fight. The redhead is a bit miffed that Byleth was able to get the center hill back so quick, but the Lions _did_ take it briefly, and the Eagles never touched it. Sylvain will allow himself a point of pride over that.

It’s funny. Sylvain thinks that he’d find himself feeling shittier about a loss, but he finds himself looking at his victories rather than the woman standing over him at the moment.

Even so, Edelgard smiles at him, taps the side of his neck, then offers him a hand up to his feet. Sylvain takes it.

“You did very well,” Edelgard says. “I’m impressed.”

Sylvain laughs tiredly. “Thanks for the praise, but you should get going. You’ve still got some fight left in you, yeah?”

She nods, giving a little laugh of her own. “That’s one way to put it, I suppose.”

Still, she waits. Yuri is quick enough to approach from the side, but also tired enough to hold his hands up when Edelgard ventures to lift her axe.

“I yield. I’m pretty sure we’re done here, Princess,” Yuri says. “You mind if I take my boyfriend off the field?”

“I should hope that you would. You both need rest,” she says. “Well fought. I hope to talk strategy with you after the battle is over.”

“Sure thing,” Sylvain says, offering a wave.

Edelgard watches as they go, waiting for a sign that they’re off the field safely. Sylvain doesn’t know if she’s still watching when they head towards the makeshift medical tent. There are enough students who’ve been taken out of the fight that it’s officially louder than the battlefield.

“I saw what you did to that poor Ballista,” Yuri says, slinging his arm around Sylvain’s waist. “Smart.”

Sylvain smiles, pressing a little kiss to Yuri’s temple as they walk. “Your gift came in handy.”

“Damn right it did.”


	13. Chapter 13

The trip back to Garreg Mach is relatively calm, relatively quiet, mostly filled with moments where Sylvain walks hand in hand with Yuri and enjoys the fresh fall air. It’s still a bit warmer than he’d like, but maybe that’s just how it is when one grows up in the northernmost region of Faerghus.

It feels out of place to see Annie looking so miserable. She walks slowly, sullenly, and Mercedes frowns deeply when she looks back at Sylvain. Her eyes hold a little plea, a wordless way to ask “would you talk to her, please?”

Yuri catches on because of course he does. He squeezes Sylvain’s hand before letting go, before leaning up just enough to plant a kiss on his cheek.

“Go,” he says. “I’ll catch up.”

He breaks away from Yuri, speeding up to match the girls’ pace.

“Annie, you look really down,” Sylvain says. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she sighs, not even bothering to pretend.

“Bull. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Annette doesn’t look at him, but she doesn’t necessarily need to. Mercedes is still looking over her shoulder, this time as if to beckon Yuri from where he still lags behind. If Sylvain wasn’t so worried about Annette, he’d change his focus to see what Yuri’s expression is. Maybe offer some kind of reassurance somehow.

“It’s _nothing_ ,” Annette insists. “I shouldn’t have expected anything.”

Sylvain’s heart sinks. He knows that tone of voice a little too well, what with how many times he waited for Miklan, wanted his brother to actually be _his brother_. Sylvain takes Annette by the shoulders and stops them, making her face him.

“Annie,” Sylvain says gently. “What happened?”

Tears well up in Annette’s eyes. “I came to Garreg Mach because my father joined the Knights of Seiros. He left so suddenly. I’ve done all I can do just to get closer to _seeing_ him again.”

It hits Sylvain like a brick to the head, really. He thinks about all the rumors he’s heard about Gilbert staring at Annette, about how that had made him so very suspicious when Flayn had vanished.

“And I found him. I found him!” Annette says. “He’s _here_ , and he pretends he doesn’t even know me! He won’t talk to me, always avoids me, it’s like I don’t even exist to him! I was one of the Blue Lion generals in the Battle of the Eagle and Lion, and he still won’t even _look_ at me! Did I not do good enough?”

Sylvain’s pretty sure his blood runs cold. He doesn’t like this, and especially doesn’t like where his head takes him. Sylvain pictures his own father, frozen over like the Sreng wastes he so loves to fight in.

“Annie…”

“I just don’t understand,” she says, and her breath trembles while she does. “Does he hate me? What did I do…?”

Sylvain pulls Annette close, holding her tight. She buries her head in his chest.

“Annie, you are so good. If he can’t see that, he’s blind.” It’s barely a whisper, because his own throat is clogging up now.

She whimpers in his arms. “I just- he’s my _father_. I want him to-”

Annette doesn’t need to say anything else. She wants her father to act like her damn father for once. Sylvain recalls every time he wanted Miklan to just be his damn brother. Every cold refusal. Hatred sparks in his gut. Annette is so wonderful, how could Gilbert ever do this to her?

How could anyone?

*

“You look like you’re planning something,” Yuri says.

It’ll take another day before they’re back at the Monastery, another day before Yuri and Sylvain can properly share a bed again, but the leader of the Ashen Wolves has made himself quite at home in Sylvain’s tent. Is it allowed? Probably not. Will that stop either of them? Oh hell no. For now, Sylvain lays with his head on Yuri’s chest, half curled and with a pout on his face that he doesn’t even realize is there.

Well, not until now that is.

He looks up at Yuri, pout stretching into a frown. “Too little to be a plan, really. I just… I don’t know. I’ve been there, where Annie is now. She deserves to have an actual dad or, failing that, an apology.”

“Margrave Gautier was just as hard on you as Miklan then, huh?”

A chill runs down Sylvain’s spine then. He hadn’t been thinking of his father, really, he’d been thinking about Miklan. But with less than a second of mulling it over, Sylvain realizes that Yuri’s right.

“Kinda?” Sylvain compromises. “It’s. Complicated. And an entire other can of worms than what I was thinking, but, yeah.”

Yuri’s expression is fractured for a moment with unintended consequences. The violet-haired man doesn’t instantly try to pick up his façade, though, which makes Sylvain’s heart do a little flip. Letting worry show is something Yuri doesn’t do very often.

The redhead nestles into Yuri’s neck, and the violet-haired man gives the tiniest sigh of relief as he runs his fingers through Sylvain’s hair, soothing the shivers down Sylvain’s spine in one fell swoop.

“What’re you going to do?” he asks quietly.

“I don’t know yet,” Sylvain admits. “But something’s gotta give, y’know?”

*

It really is like a celebration when the classes all convene in the dining hall. Sylvain thinks himself pretty social under most circumstances, but even he feels a bit overwhelmed with all the chatter. Still, it's good to see Annette in the middle of a huddle of friends. She smiles wide at Mercedes and Lysithea, bouncing on her heels as she lays out the strategies she worked on through the month.

Still no sign of Gilbert. That’s probably a good thing, because Sylvain still isn’t sure what he wants to do about that yet. When the redhead’s thoughts drift in that direction he just gets so, so angry. Margrave Gautier treats Sylvain coldly because Sylvain _has_ messed up in the past. What has Annette ever done? Nothing worthy of this, that’s for sure.

He steps out of the dining hall for some air, only to find that he’s not alone. The Imperial Princess herself turns and smiles at him waving him over.

“Sylvain! There you are. I was hoping to run into you.”

Goddess, if Sylvain somehow travelled to the past, six months ago, he wouldn’t have believed that this was even remotely possible. He waves back, walking up to where Edelgard leans against the railing.

“I hear you made quite the comeback, being the last Black Eagle left on the field,” Sylvain says.

She gives a mixture of a laugh and a sigh, shoulders sinking just a little. “I suppose, but one woman does not an army make, apparently.”

“Still, theoretically you could have hung on ‘til reinforcements arrived,” Sylvain says. “If it were a real fight, that is. And that’s impressive on its own.”

“Well, thank you,” Edelgard replies. “Did you get in trouble for your stunt with the Ballista?”

Sylvain offers a laugh of his own. “Well, there weren’t any rules against it. Seteth didn’t exactly _praise_ me for it, but he didn’t screw me over for it either. The idea was apparently a big hit with Catherine.”

“I see. In her seminars she does often talk about tactics such as those.” Edelgard nods along, a small smile on her face. “Will you allow me to pick your brain for a few minutes?”

This would be the part where Sylvain would tease, offer a slightly lusty comment or something to fluster her, if he’d still been single. If he wasn’t already spoken for. This could have been a chance of a lifetime if he’d still been trying to fuck around to get ahead.

He’s completely relaxed when he leans on the balcony, offering a casual shrug and a “Sure.”

“You were one of the last Blue Lions on the field, why do you think that is?” Edelgard asks.

“Well, I’m probably one of the Blue Lions who can take the most hits, I guess,” Sylvain says.

“I highly doubt that’s all of it, though. Dimitri has the Crest of Blaiddyd on his side, and yet you outpaced even him.”

Sylvain rests his chin in his palm. “The Battle of the Eagle and Lion isn’t really a competition in that way, though. And it’s certainly not a Crest-measuring contest.”

Edelgard nods. “Yes, exactly. Did your Crest factor into your strategies at all?”

Sylvain shakes his head. “Nope. Those things are unpredictable. I only ever get a vague feeling about when mine is going to come up. I wouldn’t trust them to win a battle for me. Why, did yours factor into _your_ strategies? The Crest of Seiros is nothing to sneeze at, after all.”

There’s a hesitation before she speaks. It isn’t the ‘wrong Crest’ hesitation, but it’s enough to indicate a sore subject at least. “No. I think that it’s folly to rely on Crests in any manner. They’re capricious. Even in society, I wish that there would be less emphasis on Crests. There are plenty of talented people without them.”

“Yeah, that’s for sure,” Sylvain agrees. “The last Blue Lion on the field was Dedue, and he’s not from Fodlan. And doesn’t the Golden Deer have the highest number of students without Crests?”

Edelgard’s face is a careful thing, well-crafted and mostly controlled like most heads of state are groomed to be, but Sylvain still notices a tiny spark of surprise glinting in her eyes.

“Yes,” she says. “It certainly makes one think about things, doesn’t it?”

*

Sylvain isn’t walking back to his room at the end of the night, he’s walking down towards Abyss towards a shortcut Yuri told him about. A perk of the Boyfriend Privilege when it comes to Yuri is learning some of Garreg Mach’s secrets.

But the walls have eyes and ears. No one is truly alone here, and Sylvain realizes this in spades when Dimitri appears in half-shadow, the other side of his face bathed in moonlight. It would be a startling appearance if not for the fact that Sylvain is now really fucking tired and wants nothing more than to snuggle up to his boyfriend.

“Highness,” Sylvain greets.

“Sylvain.”

Dimitri’s tone is a familiar shade of stern, one that would catch him in the mornings and voice disappointment at his conduct, at the bedding and bedding and the running away from problems.

But things are different now. Things are really different now, and yet Dimitri is still looking at him the same way. Why is he looking at Sylvain the same way…?

“Listen, you know about Yuri,” Sylvain says, trying to be cordial. “This isn’t like before, so I don’t want a lecture.”

“That isn’t what I came to ask you about,” Dimitri says. “You seemed awfully close with Edelgard earlier.”

Alright, now this is just confusing. Sylvain raises an eyebrow at Dimitri.

“Dude, believe me when I say I’m already spoken for,” Sylvain offers. “And I definitely did not charm my way into her-”

Dimitri ducks his head, holding up his hand. “Stop, stop. No. I just… What were you two talking about?”

Sylvain frowns. “Strategy. Crests and their worth. Why do you want to know?”

“Curiosity.”

It’s bullshit. Sylvain knows that it’s bullshit and he can practically smell it in the air, but Dimitri is all hard angles and thousand-yard stares. There will be no answer tonight without a hell of a lot of prying, and Sylvain isn’t sure he’s willing to pry open a bear’s maw right now.

He has to give this time. Or at least wait until broad daylight when Dimitri isn’t looking half-wild.

“If you say so,” Sylvain says, resuming his path. “Night, Highness. Sleep well.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I'm still alive, I swear, just very overwhelmed and very tired because of things both societal and personal. Here I am with another chapter that was cathartic to write during all this mess.

“Hey, Dedue?” Sylvain says when they’re next on kitchen duty. “Can I ask a favor?”

Dedue raises his eyebrows, head quirked slightly to the left. The man usually keeps a tight hold on his expressions, which Sylvain understands. There are a lot of idiots around. Still, that just makes Sylvain happy when Dedue does emote around him, even if it’s slight like this.

“I would say you don’t have to ask if you can ask, but that would be a whole separate conversation, wouldn’t it?” he says.

Sylvain chuckles. “Yup. So?”

Dedue’s mouth quirks up into a small smile, bemusement in his voice. “Alright, I’ll hear you out.”

“’Kay. It’s about Annie,” Sylvain explains, leaning back against the counter. “Gilbert’s been giving her the slip. She really needs to talk to him, and he needs to stop being a coward.”

Confusion swiped across Dedue’s face as he turns to look at Sylvain properly. “Why would he be running from Annette?”

Ah, right. The drawback of not being born into the Faerghus noble court is not knowing the intricacies and scandals. Mercedes is saddled with that blessing and curse as well.

“I can think of plenty of reasons a parent would want to hide from their kid.” Sylvain says, fighting to keep his voice from darkening too much. “Annie just wants to talk, though, so Gilbert really doesn’t have anything to worry about.”

Realization dawns in Dedue’s eyes. He strokes his chin. “What are you planning?”

Sylvain snorts, crossing his arms. “Eh. An ambush, I suppose.”

He still burns when he remembers how Annette cried after the Battle of the Eagle and Lion. She deserves better. Maybe he can’t make Gilbert a better man, even if he wishes for it, but he can drive the man into a corner and force him to give answers.

Dedue reads him like a book, putting a hand on Sylvain’s shoulder and drawing the redhead out of his thoughts.

“Am I correct in assuming that I’m not the only one you’ve asked?”

“Uh-huh,” Sylvain nods. “I’ve got Mercie and Yuri on board, and I’ve been thinking about asking Ashe and Caspar, too. They care about Annie a lot, and the more hands we have means the less likely Gilbert is to get away.”

Dedue nods. “Perhaps I can ask for His Highness’ assistance as well, then. He cares about Annette as well, and would be sympathetic to her plight.”

Sylvain grins. “Great. I’ll take all the help I can get.”

*

It’s easy enough to block off the main hall when Gilbert passes through like usual. Caspar fulfills his role of distraction better than Sylvain could have hoped. The kid has always been pretty good at commanding attention and trapping people in conversations. Sylvain remembers talking with Hubert about that ‘pleasant annoyance’ as he called it.

Sylvain isn’t quite sure how Hubert can call Caspar an annoyance with such affection. Maybe it really is that important to him to keep up that aloof façade. Sylvain knows one thing for certain though; it’s easier to think about Hubert’s weird complexities than the fact that Gilbert is looking around now. He’s a Knight of Seiros, after all. He’s got to be familiar with traps, especially formations taught at the Academy…

“Easy,” Yuri reminds, pulling Sylvain’s face towards his. “It’ll work, but not if you look too long.”

“Right,” Sylvain manages.

They’re back far enough towards the entrance that they can block it should Gilbert attempt to leave through there. The hiding spot only works if Sylvain looks like he’s madly in love with his boyfriend, though, and not worried that his plan is going to fail.

Yuri’s brows furrow. “You’re really upset. I don’t think I realized how much ‘til now.”

Sylvain’s smile is half-hearted. “There’s a reason I asked Caspar to play that role instead of taking it myself.”

Reason being that he’s angry enough to try tearing Gilbert a new one for putting Annette through such pain. Sylvain is certain that he’d singlehandedly ruin the plan if he’d tried to confront Gilbert himself. This isn’t about Sylvain, this is about Annette. So when Caspar volunteered, Sylvain gladly let him take that position.

Yuri does his best to hide a frown behind one hand, patting Sylvain’s arm with the other. No doubt it’s one of those genuine ones that Yuri doesn’t like using in public. That concerned, ‘oh honey’-type frown.

“I know,” Sylvain sighs, “And we’ll talk about it when this is done, okay?”

There are words on Yuri’s tongue, but he doesn’t get the chance to say them. The whole of the main hall reaches a wretched quiet when Annette calls out.

“Father!”

Yuri reaches up and keeps Sylvain’s chin firmly in hand before Sylvain can follow the involuntary urge to whip his head around. Sylvain squeezes his eyes shut to keep the anger in them from Yuri. Yuri doesn’t deserve that.

“I have to go,” Gilbert says, strained.

“What-? No! Hey, wait!” Caspar says.

There’s a flurry of footsteps, and Yuri does his level best to keep Sylvain’s attention despite the redhead’s inclination to try and stop Gilbert _right now_.

“Okay, I get it,” Sylvain hisses, “but-”

Sylvain hears the clank of metal on metal and stops short. He hears the familiar tink-tink-tink of articulated gauntlets.

“Your Highness?” Gilbert says.

“You need to speak with your daughter,” Dimitri says, cold and hard. His tone is dark, like when he was asking Sylvain about Edelgard.

Chills wrack down Sylvain’s spine. He wonders if letting Dedue tell Dimitri was a bad idea.

“Y-Your Highness-”

“Father, please!” Annette cries, catching up to them. “Please, I just want to-”

Things seem to be going well, despite the knots Sylvain’s stomach has wound itself into. Gilbert is trapped, Annette is here and demanding answers, and sooner or later Gilbert will have to respond.

Unless he’s saved by an unknown variable showing up.

“Gilbert, there you are.”

 _Shit_.

Yuri lets go of Sylvain’s chin in surprise. Seteth pushes through the oddly-shaped crowd that’s formed, making his way to the knight under his command.

“Good, I was looking for-” Seteth starts, but then he stops. It’s hard not to notice Annette’s tears and Dimitri’s anger. “What’s going on here?”

“Nothing, Seteth,” Gilbert says.

Annette wavers like she’ll be blown away by the next gust of wind. Her face reddens and pinches before she hides it in her sleeve, running in the opposite direction with stunted sobs.

The main hall is silent again, but for different reasons.

“It was a familial dispute,” Dimitri interjects before anyone can say anything else. “Gilbert, I suggest you think on what’s happened just now.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” Gilbert chokes out.

*

Sylvain collapses onto his bed, hiding his face in his hands. He feels the bed shift as the familiar weight of Yuri settles in to sit beside him.

“Are you alright?” Yuri asks, brushing some of Sylvain’s fringe out of his face.

Sylvain groans. He doesn’t know how to answer that, really. Physically, he’s fine. Mentally, he’s a mess. It’s the same old, same old. He peels his fingers back enough to look up at Yuri, way more vulnerable than he wants to be after what was supposed to be a successful operation.

“Okay, stupid question,” Yuri says on seeing Sylvain’s face.

“Did I make things worse?” Sylvain asks. “I wanted to make them better. Annie deserves for things to be better.”

Yuri’s expression cracks, sadness seeping through the way his eyes droop. “Oh, Sylvain.”

“She does. Her father’s right there, and she’s trying so hard-”

“ _Sweetheart._ ” Yuri says, leaning down to meet Sylvain. “I know you want to fix this for her, but you can’t. She has to. And Gilbert has to. It’s out of your hands.”

“Ugh,” Sylvain says, hiding his eyes behind his arm. Tears are starting to form, and he can’t make them stop.

Yuri doesn’t let him hide, though. The violet haired man pulls Sylvain’s arm away, gently strokes his cheeks.

“Either they’ll talk or they won’t. Regardless, it’s not a secret anymore,” Yuri says. “And you have no idea how much the peer pressure will get to Gilbert. If Seteth didn’t know that Annette was Gilbert’s daughter, then he sure as hell knows now.”

“Yeah,” Sylvain sighs. “Yeah, I know. And Seteth doesn’t let things like that go.”

“Mmhm, he’s too much of a hardass,” Yuri says.

Sylvain manages a tiny, congested laugh, smile more watery than he’d like it to be. Still, Yuri leans down and kisses him all the same. Sylvain finds it easier to forget his sadness when Yuri is warm and flush against him. It’s not totally gone, but he feels less like sobbing when Yuri pulls away.

The violet haired man hums, pressing another kiss to Sylvain’s forehead. “There you are.”

“Here I am,” Sylvain replies softly, reaching up to wrap his arms around Yuri’s waist. “Now c’mere.”


End file.
